Love, Life and Gummy Brains
by koi no yokan
Summary: A series of events and circumstances following "A Spork in the Road". Bruce's developing relationship with Tony while living at the mansion, including visits from nosy gods and pseudo-relatives, far too many affable exes for comfort, and a cameo appearance from Gotham's Dark Knight (because Bruce has a thing for genius billionaire playboy philanthropists). Bruce/Tony AUish
1. First Morning

The first morning with Tony is… interesting.

After Tony nearly burns the house down trying to make 'Sorry I Got Drunk and Used You As a Crutch' pancakes-on the grill—Bruce makes the mistake of mentioning that he can actually produce semi-edible food in the kitchen.

After proving his skills to a wary Tony by making crepes with Nutella and suspect jelly (no fresh fruit is available), he is officially designated as chef, despite his protests that surely somewhere in this behemoth of a home Tony must already have one. As Tony puts it, he hasn't been able to perfect synthetic taste buds for his bots, so he's instead been engaging with a torrid love affair with takeout services, but if Bruce would rather live on lo mein and cold pizza…

Bruce decides his long-repressed life dream has been to cook.

After finishing breakfast, Tony drags Bruce to his lab in order to show off. Bruce is suitably impressed by the machines that Tony has built, including his suit, despite his best efforts—God knows Tony's ego doesn't need any more stroking.

They spend the rest of the morning in Tony's workshop, Bruce learning the ropes and being shown schematics of every pet project Tony has ever dreamed up. He offers compliments copiously and questions/suggested where he can, given his limited expertize in engineering. Strangely enough his critiques seem to make Tony smile wider than his compliments do. He wonders if the man has a hidden masochistic streak. It would explain his compulsion to antagonize armed people at every opportunity.

They break only for Bruce them make them grilled cheese sandwiches, requiring him to pry Tony from his tools with mingled threats and cajoling. Bruce wonders how the man has survived this long.

Tony promises to have some of the materials moved from Stark Tower to his house in one of the spare labs. 'Spare labs'—Bruce is unsure whether to praise Lady Luck for his good fortune or cry at the unfairness of the world, that someone can have _spare labs_ in the first place. He already wants to weep at the sheer magnitude and quality of the facilities being thrown at him. Until his 'physics thingies' arrive, he is invited to continue helping Tony with his work.

It's actually very fun.

Bruce had been worried that Tony would grow annoyed at his quiet demeanor, such a contrast to the hero's own boisterous manner, but the two seem to balance nicely and meet at the half-way point of snark. They fill the time with witty banter about science, politics, and of course the other Avengers.

"And don't think I didn't see you pocketing not only Agent Coulson's number, but also the esteemed Captain's. Not so pious after all, is he?" Bruce shrugs.

"He also gave his number to Phil and Director Fury. Do you think he's playing the field?"

"Um, ew." Tony says, looking delighted at Bruce's inappropriateness. "I do not need that image in my head, thank you. Although Cap 'n' Coulson…" He looks thoughtful and Bruce bites his lip.

"I hope not." He says without thinking, Tony's eyes are suddenly laser-focused on him, circuit board lying forgotten on the table.

"Reeeeeally." He drawls. "So which one you got your eye on then? It didn't seem like the Captain sunk your battleship, but the agent, really? 'Phil'?" He mocks in a falsetto that Bruce is 95% sure that he does not, in fact, employ. He flushes.

"I-it's not like that! I can safely say that neither of them are really my type, actually." He makes an 'icky' face because the idea of certain explicit activities with either of his friends makes him feel queasy. He's not lying either; his type is apparently tall, dark and dickish playboy prodigies with a tech kink. Strangely enough, this is not a common find. Tony actually looks upset.

"Jesus Banner, really? I never thought that you'd be a homophobe." He sounds more than just disappointed, and Bruce has to go 'Wait, what?'.

"I set up two presumably _male _gods—although who the hell knows with Loki. What about that strikes you as homophobic?"

"Necessity trumps scruples." Tony says primly, and Bruce gapes at him.

"But, I—that's insane! I really don't mind at all about any sexuality; I don't really see the point in fretting over what others want to do on their own time, as long as it's consensual. Besides, it's a fluid concept; concrete ideals don't really hold any water." Bruce says. Tony watches him narrowly.

"Oh? Really. So then why the investment?" Tony obviously doesn't believe him.

"I, uh, there's, I have a friend who has an investment, okay? I'm an investment by proxy." Now Tony looks interested rather than skeptical. Bruce doesn't know which he prefers. At least he's not angry anymore.

"Uh huh. And this friend is interested in which party?"

Bruce purses his lips. "You know I can't tell you that. It's his private affair." And Clint would _murder _him and never be caught.

"Ooh, 'his'?" Bruce curses at his slip. "Well, I suppose I can concede that you're probably not homophobic."

"Goodie."

The rest of the day goes smoothly, and when Tony steps away from the table for a second Bruce swoops in to steal him—or at least his chauffer—to go grocery shopping.

Tony insists on joining him, despite the fact that Bruce is certain the man has never in his life done his own grocery shopping. Or at least he hopes so, after seeing the sad condition of the pantry.

They get milk and eggs and bread and fruits and vegetables of all kinds, the usual suspects. Then they get tooth-rotting cereals and every flavor of Ben & Jerry's and a plethora of baking supplies about five pounds of chocolate (Tony has a sweet tooth and Bruce has 32 of them).

Tony wants to get meat but Bruce informs him primly that if he wants to facilitate murder, he'll be flipping his own burger—an admonishment that sounds rather filthier in speech than in thought, if the shocked glances of the check-out clerk are any indication. Tony pouts the whole ride home.

After a brief glaring contest they reach a compromise: in a reverse Lent maneuver, every Friday will be meat night where Tony can choose the entrée. This plan involves another trip to the store since tonight is Friday, and more judgmental looks from the store workers until Tony says happily "Bruce is totally flipping my burger tonight!" and suddenly no one can look at them at all.

Bruce very seriously considers charring his burger until Tony mentions off-handedly that he likes them crispy. When he bites into the medium rare burger with gusto however, Bruce cannot help but feel that he's been played. He munches viciously on his black bean burger and vows that next week the meat will be charcoal.

Tony seems to catch his chain of thought. Bruce cannot help but notice through the haze of his ire that Tony has a very nice laugh.

They've settled into a bit of a routine. Bruce makes breakfast while Tony makes coffee (You know that saying about burning water? That would be Bruce, although due to his abroad trips in Asia he can make a cup of tea that will knock your socks off), both slouching at the counter and engaging in an unofficial yawning contest.

Then they go to the lab. Despite Tony's earlier boasting about labs taking entire floors, he has instead set up Bruce's directly next to his, separated only by what Bruce hopes is _very _reinforced glass. They frequently wander over to each others' space to hold together something being soldered or bringing over a tool that's missing or deliver the delicious boon of caffeine in various forms.

Tony leaves Bruce an Iron Man Pez dispenser on his desk one day with an autographed photo reading 'For my biggest fan'. Bruce retaliates with a gummy brain, complete with a note saying 'Since you lost yours'.

Sometimes they break for lunch, and sometimes they subsist on Pez and gummy brains until dinnertime. Tony has taken to doing things to help in the kitchen that can't catch fire, like pouring the drinks and setting their places. Bruce carefully watches how much wine the other man ingests, but he's been stopping at one or two glasses every night. Bruce is infinitely relieved.

Then they watch a movie, taking turns with choosing titles. Tony tends to choose either a ridiculous action film to critique with Bruce or one of the classics (He seems to have a thing for Cary Grant, but then again who doesn't?). Bruce inevitably chooses an animated Disney movie, which Tony teased him about until Bruce pointed out that he was picking from _Tony's _collection. Now he just gets the odd pointed "Bambi" in the lab. He's started to respond to it as easily as his own name, which is both horrifying and humiliating.

It's nice.

It's terrifying.

Because Bruce looks at Tony as the man watches Simba tumble through the Elephant Graveyard, the billionaire on the edge of his seat and mindlessly shoveling popcorn in his mouth as he stares unblinkingly at the screen, and he fiercely, desperately _does not want to lose this. _He can't remember the last time he let himself have anything just for himself, but Tony seems to bring out the selfishness in him. He wants to sit here, watching movies with Tony and arguing over who has to make the popcorn, and he doesn't want to leave.

He wants to teach Tony to make pancakes without a grill, and to find corny Pez dispensers on his desk, and to argue about the best coolant for Tony's new gadget all through the night until JARVIS cordially reminds them that adult males need approximately eight hours _a day _of sleep to function, genius or no. He wants to have all these things and he never wants to not have them.

"Moothatha!" Tony cheers through a mouthful of popcorn as the lion king appears on screen, and Bruce is breaking, because he's learned that karma is cruel, and he has done nothing to deserve this, and none of this is going to last.

It's the one lesson his drunkard of a father taught him that Bruce took to heart rather than to face:

Never wager something that you can't afford to lose, and never have something that you can't afford to wager.


	2. First Ex

Bruce is finally settling in at the mansion. He's learned the name of the driver who witnessed his arrival, and after apologizing profusely they have become friendly acquaintances. At least the man doesn't crack up when he sees him, at least, which is good enough in Bruce's book.

JARVIS is a more solid ally, because they both know what it's like to have the full and undivided (in so much as is possible) attention of Tony Stark. Bruce makes sure to say goodnight to the AI every night, partially because he wants to be polite and partially because he saw _2001: A Space Odyssey _and he's not risking it.

And Tony… is Tony. Bruce has settled into the comfortable system of cycling between wanting to strangle him and wanting to jump his bones. Sometimes both at the same time.

Of course, this charming routine can only last so long before it all goes to hell—although that seems a rather rude way to refer to Ms. Potts.

Tony is taking one of his afternoon power naps, so when JARVIS announces that there's someone at the door, Bruce goes instead.

He's dressed in khakis and an untucked purple button-down (Tony has told him that purple is his color and, to prove this point, buys him shirts almost exclusively in that color) and he doesn't bother putting on his shoes, so his socks detailing the bones of the foot X-ray style are fully visible when he opens the door to a strawberry-blonde woman who is very pretty and also very angry.

She takes a deep breath, presumably to begin a tirade, then lets it out again sharply when she sees Bruce.

"Who are you?" She asks bluntly. Bruce shifts awkwardly, because he can't believe Tony didn't mention him to his assistant and friend and ex(?)-girlfriend.

"Um, I'm Bruce. Bruce Banner. You're probably looking for Tony." _Of course she's looking for Tony. This is his house! _"He's asleep at the moment, but if you want to come in his naps only usually last for thirty minutes or so and it's been twenty." And now he sounded like a stalker who watched and recorded her friend while he slept.

The woman—Ms. Potts's—eyes drifted down over his form, taking in the nervous smile and the fidgety hands and the wrinkled clothing and the dorky socks. It seeme that whatever she saw she deemed acceptable, because she relaxed for the first time, seeming genuinely contrite in her demeanor.

"I'm sorry, it's just… Tony."

"Say no more." Bruce understood entirely. A timer went off in the kitchen and Bruce started. His oatmeal Scotchies! "Um, would you like some tea and cookies while you wait?"

She blinked, and then a cat-like grin overtook her features. "Bruce, I think we're going to get along just fine."

Over piping hot cookies and iced tea, Bruce learned that not only had Tony not talked to Ms. Potts—"Pepper, call me Pepper"—about his new roommate, he had also not talked to her or anyone else at all for the two and a half weeks that Bruce had been staying here.

"But the company—"

"Told me to handle it. Said he was going on a break."

Right.

"Of course, you're by far better than the scenarios we were envisioning. Tony can be… erratic. He's been better since he took up the suit—well, if you can call putting on armor and putting your life at risk every day 'better'—but we still worry. You know." He does know. He tells her so. "But you seem perfectly lovely. So I'm forced to ask: Why are you living here with Tony Stark?" All of the exasperated affection has leeched out of her voice, and now she is the same Valkyrie of a woman she was when she was first on his doorstep.

"I don't…"

"Is he paying you?" She asks, point blank.

Bruce is a bit taken aback. "Of course he's not paying me! Which we should really talk about, since I can't really continue living here like a squatter, but every time I bring it up he just makes some weird excuse and then I can't find the car for the rest of the day and all the want ads are mysteriously used to make paper snowflakes—even though it's the middle of the summer in Malibu!" It's a bit irritating, to be honest, although Bruce's room is rather attractively decorated with the results. Come Christmas he's going to be saving a bundle on decorations.

"Is someone else paying you?" She asks, shortly.

"Paying me…? To live with Tony? I mean he's not that bad. We're working on the explosions at all hours of the night bit, but you really do have to strike when the iron is hot with the things and I can't really begrudge—"

"A magazine, Bruce. A newspaper, a rival company, anything." Now that he understands, he really wishes that he didn't.

"That's horrible! Like a spy? Listen, Ms. Potts, I don't know who you think I am, but I would never do something so cruel to someone as kind as Tony."

The ginger-haired woman stares at him for a moment, searching for something in his face, and then she laughs.

"Tony kind? Well, I know you're not a spy; no one with any training in infiltration would lay it on so thick. And I told you to call me Pepper."

That seems a rather familiar term of address for someone who has just accused him of espionage, but Bruce nods reluctantly because 'Ms. Potts' doesn't really have an austere ringing of disdain that he would need to convey his displeasure anyway.

"But he is kind." He argues, and Pepper's eyes soften.

"Yes, I suppose he is, in his own strange way." She looks down at her plate, something conflicting on her face. "I do love him, you know."

Bruce nods, even though at the moment he really wants to punch her.

"It just… loving Tony is like loving fire. It seems warm and bright, but when you try to get close to it… it burns. Rhodey's different, he's solid. I know that he cares for me, and that he's going to come home and hear about _my day_, rather than regaling me with his. And he'll fall asleep with me at night, instead of leaving me with an empty space. I need that."

"So Rhodey's the safe option?" He can't help but snipe, even though he's known Pepper for all of ten minutes and he's never even met Rhodey. Pepper glares at him for a moment, but then her eyes fall away, unsteady. Guilty.

"It's not like that. I'm happy with Rhodey. I don't think that Tony's the type to settle down, and that's what I want. I'm fine with a little danger, but _just a little_, you know?"

"No." He says, surprising her, surprising himself. "I really don't know. I don't like danger at all, but I like Tony quite a bit. Which is why I'm _not _spying on him." He adds pointedly. Pepper grins weakly at him.

"I have to be careful. Tony doesn't trust easily, but when he does, he trusts with all of himself. I just don't want him to get hurt."

"As long as it's not you doing the hurting." Bruce never said that _he _was kind, just Tony. Pepper flinches minutely.

"It was for his own good." She says, resolutely. Bruce supposes he really shouldn't complain, considering the result of their breakup is that he gets to live with Tony without drop-ins from his girlfriend—until now—but the idea of anyone hurting Tony 'for his own good' is grating. "And you… you might be for his own good too."

Huh?

"Huh?"

She looks meaningfully at the cookies. "He needs someone to take care of him without coddling him, but he also needs someone who can keep up with him. I love him, but I don't understand him."

Which sounded eerily similar to what Tony had mentioned to Bruce weeks ago, drunk out of his mind.

"I really don't think our roles are comparable…" He says unsurely and a little mad with jealousy. Does that mean that Pepper used to ridicule movies with Tony and receive Pez from him and flip his burger—right, avoiding that phrase.

Pepper shoots him an unconvinced look. "In either case, thank you for taking care of him."

There is really nothing Bruce can say to that except, "Anytime." Which would be totally embarrassing and sappy, so he should really be relieved that a newly awakened Tony cuts in instead.

"See? People like me." He saunters over and joins them at the table, snagging a cookie from Bruce's plate rather than from the tray a scant foot away. Bruce smacks his hand but doesn't take the cookie back. " 'S good." He says, crumbs spewing from his mouth. Bruce adds 'eating with your mouth closed' to the list of things he is working on with Tony. Pepper snorts.

"People don't like you, Bruce likes you. I've decided he must be a saint."

"Hey! I'm likable!"

"You're contagious."

"Same thing."

Bruce feels remarkably out of place suddenly. He doesn't know what Pepper's talking about, because the way that these two just banter back and forth is so natural and relaxed that he can't hope to compete. His relationship with his (only) ex, Betty, is pretty friendly, but he'd thought that he was the exception.

Apparently not.

"Pepper wanted to talk to you about work, so I'll just head down to the lab, okay?" He says, suddenly desperate to get out of this room and away from this. He's always been rather good at sticking his head in the sand. Besides, blowing something up sounds pretty good right about now.

"Aw, really? You can stay, right Pep?" Pepper smiles apologetically at Bruce, ignoring Tony entirely.

"Would you mind? It's just that a lot of this is sort of classified. We won't take long."

Bruce makes a note to take an extra fire extinguisher with him to the lab, but he still nods and smiles as amiably as possible. His therapy sessions really paid off more than designing a gamma bomb ever could have.

"Right. I'll leave you to it. Don't eat too many cookies and spoil your dinner, Tony." He slips away to the sound of Tony chirping,

"It's Flesh Friday!" And Pepper's gasp of scandal.

He sneaks back after two hours of explosions and cathartic experiments that he hasn't done since he was in preschool (apparently baking soda and vinegar volcanoes will never grow old, and are much more exciting at ten times normal scale).

_We won't take too long_, he scoffs, his inner rendition of Pepper taking on a rather whiny nasal quality that Bruce is well aware stems from spite. Still, being exiled for two hours with only JARVIS for company—okay, that's unfair, JARVIS is excellent company, but it's the principle—smarts.

They are _still _talking when he approaches the kitchen, and he considers just turning around and asking if JARVIS is up for another game of virtual chess, when he hears his name and freezes.

"—happy."

"Yeah." Tony sounds shorter than Bruce has ever heard him, taciturn and surly.

"I just—"

"I know, Pepper. It's fine. I'm fine."

"Tony…"

"Don't. You don't get to do that anymore. Go nag Rhodey." Bruce winces. Ouch, bad move.

"Oh? Oh!" Pepper's voice has risen in volume and pitch, the universal sign that you have just severely pissed off a woman. "So I can't worry about you unless I'm sleeping with you, is that it? You only want to see me when sex is on the table?"

"That's not what I'm saying. God, you're so testy. Are you on your period or something?" Bruce wants to smack him upside the head, because there are things that you just DO NOT SAY to a woman, ever, and he would have thought that lady-killer Tony Stark knew all of them.

"Tony…" This time the voice is a growl rather than a concerned query. "You are an ass and a bastard, but I still care about you AND your company, and you can't just cut and run like this without a word."

"Apparently I can." Tony snipes. Pepper growls again, pauses, and then sighs.

"We need you to come back to work, Tony. You can't keep dodging reality just because you don't like it."

"…Bruce stays."

"Fine!" Bruce has the distinct impression that Pepper is throwing her hands up. "He's not the worst habit you could have picked up. Just be careful."

"I always do." _No you don't_.

"No you don't." Pepper voices his concern. "…You really like him, don't you?"

Bruce has to strain to listen, and at first he thinks Tony isn't going to answer. He isn't sure what he wants to hear, and he thinks there's no answer that isn't going to freak him out and he should really leave, and he's turning to go but then he hears, softly,

"Yeah. Yeah, I really do."

Bruce does what he does best: flee.


	3. First Disaster(s)

Author's Note: This chapter is a little heavy, because both of our boys are a little (re: a lot) messed up. There is alcoholism and (past) abuse, but I promise there's a happy-ish ending, because I'm a sucker for them. Also, I don't mean to offend anyone suffering from alcoholism or abuse. I've known people with the former and had personal dealings with the latter, so I'm NOT trying to be offensive. I just wish I could have written those experiences better like I can here. Also, the plethora of "okay"s is intentional-that word is thrown around like confetti when you don't know how to help someone. Okay, enough angst. Enjoy.

* * *

It is after Pepper's visit that things start going downhill.

Tony returns to work, or at least he leaves the house most mornings and does something that leads to him returning looking thoroughly exhausted and disheveled.

…Bruce really hopes that he's going to work.

He gives up looking for an office job—lab job, whatever—after the first night that Tony comes back and collapses at the kitchen table, thanks God (and Bruce), and sort of falls into his pasta. He smiles fuzzily at Bruce, red sauce somehow on the tip of his nose, and says "Hi" only after inhaling his food robotically and with no conversation. "Dinner's nice."

Bruce resolves to always have a dinner for Tony to come home to and somehow smear on his face like a hapless toddler.

He's not really comfortable being a kept man though, so after conspiring to a remarkably sympathetic JARVI about sneaking around an extraordinarily job-avoidant Tony (and he'd have to ask Tony how he engineered his AI with a sense of empathy), Bruce begins lecturing at three online colleges and also doing some private contracting on the side, all from the privacy of his computer.

It is nice to be able to pick and choose his jobs without having to curtail his Cup Noodle budget in order to pay the bills, and he has a few projects that he's really excited about. An unnamed benefactor has a real corker; they want him to work on a synthetic spider silk analog. Bruce had understandably asked JARVIS to vet the mysterious individual, but the AI had given him the green light.

While Bruce's work might be improving his mood, Tony's seems to be steadily chipping away at his. Or maybe it's seeing Pepper again after their split. In any case, the man has been progressively more and more bad-tempered of late, and no amount of cute sauce-face is enough to excuse that. Bruce can now fully sympathize with the airship crew, because being in the line of fire of a grumpy Tony Stark is _not pleasant._

Still, instead of snapping back when Tony tells him the TV is too loud (which is rich considering he was listening to Black Sabbath until three last night at full volume right next door), Bruce just smiles, turns the volume down, and counts his breathing for the next five minutes until he can speak without shouting. When Tony says he used up all the hot water even though _he's _not the one that takes hour-long Jacuzzi baths, Bruce apologizes politely and then goes and makes pizza just so he can pound the dough. And when Bruce is informed that he got the wrong kind of milk, even though it's the same brand of milk that he's been buying for the past month, he just sighs and heads out to the store.

He didn't go through four years of anger management just to let a pissy brat like Stark break his calm.

He thinks he's doing a pretty good job, all things considered. He keeps thinking this until he goes to pour himself a glass of wine to calm himself down after the milk incident only to find that the bottle is empty. The bottle he bought yesterday, and hasn't drunk a drop of.

Fuck.

On autopilot, he walks to Tony's bar. There are a lot fewer bottles there than there used to be, Bruce thinks. A lot fewer than there should be. He thinks of Tony, so surly and distracted these last few weeks. Surely Bruce could have told if he was drunk rather than upset though, right?

He thinks back to the Tony who was amazingly articulate after a plane ride's worth of booze, whose only real tells were his grabby hands and uncensored speech. He'd been more emotional as well…

Bruce feels sick. He wants to scream, to go and wake Tony up and scream at him and then go find a mirror and scream at himself, because how the hell could Tony be so stupid and how the hell had Bruce let him?

He's at the sink before he's thinking about it, bottle of whisky in hand and mind hazy with rage. He tips the tinted glass, watches the dark river of amber swirl gently before snaking down the drain.

_We all go a little mad sometimes, _he thinks, hysterically.

Next goes the vodka, already half empty, now all. Then the cheap bourbon, then the good bourbon. Another bottle of wine, sweet white dessert wine that is—was-Bruce's favorite.

When he comes back to himself he is standing over the sink, a graveyard of bottles at his feet. Numb, he swoops to gather them, arranging them in a tidy row all along the counter, soldiers on the march or tombstones in a line.

JARVIS is silent, although he knows that the AI must see what he's done. He takes that as a tacit blessing and lurches off to bed, accomplished and vaguely dismayed. He knows there will be consequences, but for now he

Needs

To

Sleep.

There are consequences. Bruce wakes to the sound of breaking glass. He is not near the kitchen.

Tensing, he peeks over the covers. His floor is a mosaic of colored glass, at least three different shades littering the surface and glittering in the weak light of the drowsy morning sun.

Tony is standing in his doorway, another empty bottle in hand, and eyes as sharp as the shards on the ground.

"Most people prefer _breakfast_ in bed." He says, deceptively calm. His heart is racing mile a minute though, because he is conditioned towards this. Flight, fight, at constant war. Always fear.

"You had no right."

"I did. You know I did."

"My home, my choice." "_As long as you live under my roof…" _Bruce shakes the whiskey-bitter memories away. Tony is lost, but he isn't… '

He just isn't.

"You also said it was my home. Don't I get a choice?" Tony's eyes slide away from his, watching the lights make patterns on the glass. "Tony. Don't ask me to watch you destroy yourself."

"Then don't look." Bruce recoils, wounded. "You're overreacting. I just got a little tense, needed to relax. Once work settles down—"

"I'm a doctor, Tony, and you're not an idiot. We both know what consuming that amount of alcohol at a constant rate does to you. Your heart is already at risk—do you really think you can afford to damage any other major organs? Or where you planning on making an arc reactor for your liver too?" It's a low blow, but he sees it hit home. Tony flinches, then takes a step forward.

"Listen, you—"

_"Come here you little shit…"_

Even though it isn't Tony's voice saying it, Bruce still winces at the menacing motion, tugging his blankets more firmly around him as if they were made of a Vibranium-Adamantium alloy and could protect him. They don't need to though, because Tony catches the reaction and freezes, something other than anger finally clouding his eyes.

Bruce doesn't see it.

He shivers, hands fisting in the covers, eyes wide and blank. He's not in the mansion anymore; he's standing in a dingy little kitchen, wallpaper peeling off the dull walls, yellow except where it's red and there's so much **blood—**

_"It's your fault. It's your fault I get so angry. We were happy before you came along! _Bruce. _It's your fault you're too weak and pathetic to protect anyone. _Bruce!_ It's your fault she's dead! I didn't kill her, you did!_

_" IT'S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!"_

"**Bruce!"**

There are arms around him, suffocating him, trying to harm, and he lashes out blindly, wordless cries spilling from his lips. His hand connects with something and he hears a curse, but the arms don't let go.

He's not strong enough, he's never been, and he's going to die. He's scared but so happy too, because now he can see his mom again. He can finally tell her that he's so so sorry that he didn't protect her.

He can finally howl at her, _Why didn't you protect me either? Why?_

"Bruce, shh, Bruce, sweetheart it's okay. You're safe, you're okay." His father never once in his life called Bruce by his preferred name, let alone any endearments. Bruce stiffens, but he stops clawing at the thing holding him, shivering in place. He's clutching at something warm, hard enough to leave marks. He'd know. "It's Tony, remember Tony?" Bruce whimpers, because Tony is angry with him too, he's going to… to… "I'm not angry, darling; no one's angry."

"…I'm angry." His voice is raspy and rusting from his screams, something more primal and feral than his normal speech. "I'm… always so **angry**."

The arms around him tighten, briefly, and then one hand starts rubbing his back in soothing circles.

"Okay, that's… Okay. But I'm not angry, alright? So you're… fine. Sort of. I mean, not in the sunshine and daisies sense, but more the 'I don't need to keep smacking people who within smacking distance'. Right?"

Bruce gives a wet chuckle at the inanity of that statement, and then he can't stop, although the chuckling soon degenerates to sobbing, which he also can't stop.

Tony just makes shushing sounds and keeps rubbing his back, eve, though his shirt could probably win a wet T-shirt competition.

He doesn't know how long this lasts, but eventually he quiets enough to realize that he's just completely flipped his shit in front of the one person he desperately wanted to see Bruce as normal.

He shifts, and feels his leg brush against something cold and smooth. The empty bottle. He kicks it away like a viper (except he probably wouldn't be mean—or dumb—enough to kick a viper), and it clatters to the floor and rolls away towards the door.

"Bruce?"

He looks up at Tony, who is watching him warily and is also sporting a rather impressively swelling cheek.

"I can't live with an alcoholic." _Another alcoholic._

Tony watches him for a few moments, then nods, slowly. "Riiiiiight. Okay, no more booze. I can deal with that." His hand resumes its path along Bruce's back. "You cool?"

"Never. But I am… lukewarm?" Tony snorts.

"There's my Brucey." Bruce smiles weakly, hands twisting compulsively before he realizes that they're still fisted in Tony's shirt. He doesn't remove them. "I'm sorry you got stuck with that." Tony shrugs, evasively nonchalant even though one cheek is easily twice the size of its twin.

"I had some panic attacks, after Afghanistan. I get it. I actually made this great pressure device that distributes even compression over the torso, since studies indicate that gentle, constant pressure can reduce stress. It helped."

"…You built a hug machine." Of course he did. Bruce feels his heart squeeze a little, to know that this man would rather build a robot rather than tell anyone he was hurting.

"I built a fantastic hug machine. Beats the hell out of any measly human hug."

Bruce supposes that if Tony built it, that must be true. Still… He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Tony's shoulder and sagging into him, his body abruptly spent after that much adrenaline.

"This is pretty effective for a measly human hug." He murmurs, eyes slipping shut.

Tony smells like motor oil, metal and spices, which is a combination that Bruce never really associated with anything calming until now. He inhales deeply, trying to commit it to memory and feeling horribly guilty for playing up the comfort card, but how many times is he going to be close enough to _smell _Tony Stark without looking insanely creepy?

"You're not so bad yourself." Tony says, his voice slightly higher than normal. He must be really uncomfortable. Bruce should really get off him.

Later.

"So… sweetheart?"

Tony pinches him roughly on the arm.

"Yeah. Now go make me some goddamn breakfast, _honeybunch."_

And Bruce smiles, and does.

…After getting a robot to clean away the glass.


	4. First Visit From the Inlaws

Author's Note: Yay! Thank you for the reviews and the favorites. They're always make me so happy! Okay, this chapter is pretty short and might seem a little incomplete, but that's because the next few are going to sort of be interconnected with a theme of visits and friendships orbiting the pair (and meddling of course). So much for one-shots... First up are Natasha and Clint, because they're like Bruce's surrogate mommy and daddy (badasses). Enjoy!

* * *

The first time Natasha and Clint visit, they don't really 'visit' so much as break into the mansion, unannounced, and sneak into Bruce's room to stare at him until his sluggish survival instinct prompts him to wake up.

Needless to say Bruce rethinks his choice in friends.

"Your reaction time is pathetic, Banner." Clint informs him cheerfully. "I'd have been able to shoot the Mona Lisa into your torso by now."

"You suck at art." Bruce snaps back, struggling into a sitting position. He hasn't had coffee yet, so he's basically brain-dead, and… "What _time is it?"_

"It is O-500 hours." Natasha tells him. "We've been here since O-300." She adds helpfully, and Bruce shivers, hoping he wasn't dreaming anything too incriminating while they had been watching him for the LAST TWO HOURS.

"God that's creepy. Why didn't you _call or something?_ I'd have told you not to come."

"Exactly. And agents don't call ahead to reveal their movements. Sloppy."

Right, of course.

Bruce yawns, and Natasha smirks at him. "You look like a sleepy puppy." Bruce stares at her in horror.

"No. Just… no." He turns to Clint, beseeching. "Clint…"

"Now Natasha… I'd say he looks more like a kitten."

"I hate you." Bruce lies. Both spies grin at him innocently, which shouldn't be possible considering their careers. "No, seriously. You suck."

"Mmmhmm." Natasha agrees mildly. "Now make us breakfast, boyo. I want pancakes."

"Waffles." Clint argues in the sort of dangerous tone that would make most people run for cover but that makes Natasha smile beatifically at him.

"I could step on your pancake and make it a waffle."

"You're heavy enough." Clint retorts.

Natasha's eyes narrow dangerously, and Bruce intervenes.

"I'll make both! Tony can never decide anyway."

…Crap. Both parties turn towards him with identical devious smirks. He swallows, wondering whether climbing back under the covers and pretending that they're gone is an option.

"Sooooo… 'Tony', hmm?

'Tony' finds them an hour later in the kitchen, Natasha and Clint arguing over the merits of maple versus berry syrup for breakfast pastry, lured by the scent of cooking food despite his internal clock.

The man blinks blearily at them, eyes sliding from Bruce to the squabbling pair of agents, and then back to Bruce.

"Please tell me Captain America is not hiding in the pantry." Is all he says as he pulls up a chair on Bruce's side of the table and snatches his fork. This is becoming a pattern. Bruce is working on the supposition that to Tony Stark, wanting what you can't have is just an incentive to GET it, just to prove the idiot that said that wrong.

"Oh, no—he's camped out in your closet, didn't you notice?"

Tony's look of horror is priceless and Bruce snorts. The man turns to him pleadingly.

"Tell me this is a nightmare and you haven't actually allowed these people into our home."

Bruce ignores the (large) part of himself that tingles at the words 'our home', squashing it down firmly so he can do more than sigh when he opens his mouth.

"There wasn't really any allowing involved. They found their own way in."

"JARVIS!"

The second time that Natasha and Clint visit, they don't creep on Bruce in the dead of night. This time he is the one to walk into the kitchen after being woken by a noise, hair a fluffy mess and Pokémon sweats scuffed and hanging low on his hips, to find his housemate surrounded on either side by trained killers.

They go suspiciously silent when he enters the kitchen, notice the suspiciousness, and all start talking at once.

"Bruce, these—"

"Yo, Banner—"

"Good morning—"

He holds up a hand to stay the flood. It's too early for this. He shuffles over to the accelerated coffee maker that Tony built but can't use, pours two cups, and dumps about a pound of sugar in one before adding milk to both. He then shuffles back to the table, puts the darker brew in front of Tony, and nods dully to both parties.

"Tash, 'Int" He says, completely incoherently. Tony pats his arm patronizingly.

"Why don't you go back to bed, Bambi? We were just finishing up here." He shoots the other two a rather dark look, which they return twofold. Bruce misses it entirely, staring vacantly at a spot in the wall and blinking slowly.

" 'Offee." He murmurs. Tony nods, smiling. "You 'umpy withou'." A snort from one of the spies.

"I'll drink the coffee, Bruce. Thank you. Now head to bed, alright. JARVIS! Can you make sure Bruce gets back into bed without any mishaps?"

"JARVIS." Bruce concurs happily enough. He strokes Tony's head in a gesture that would be mortifying if he weren't sleep-drunk, but makes perfect sense now, waves goodbye to Clint and Natasha and trundles back down the hall to the waiting elevator.

Later, when he actually wakes up, he looks at his bedside table and sees a cold cup of coffee and a note in Natasha's tidy writing.

**Bruce, **

**Coffee at 1am? Stark's influence no doubt. Stay safe, kuznechik. And tell Stark to keep our little talk in mind.**

**-Natasha and Clint**

**P.S. Nice pajamas Banner. –Clint **

Bruce flushes madly, even though he only has the vaguest idea what they're talking about with the coffee. Something about a deer and an awesome wall…?

He finds Tony settled in the lab. The man looks up and waves him in the hand that isn't sketching some sort of schematic.

"Hey." The way he says it is completely casual and simple, which is quite frightening. Tony doesn't do anything casually or simply.

"Hey yourself. Natasha and Clint gone?"

Tony hums an affirmative. "Could you pass me—" Bruce plucks up the red pencil and hands it to Tony before he can finish. "Thanks." There's not even a jibe about picking up mind-reading from Loki. Something is seriously wrong here, but every time Bruce tries to talk about anything not related to science, he gets blocked by monosyllabic answers and swift topic change.

Hours later, they emerge covered in axle grease and conspicuously silent to shower. Bruce rushes through his because he wants to have the movie ready for Tony when he gets out. He picks one of Tony's favorites, hoping it will cheer him up, and settles in on the couch with a cup of tea.

When Tony emerges however, he is not dressed in his ratty T-shirt and 'couch potato pants' but in dark jeans and one of his 'artistically weathered' shirts that still look ratty to Bruce. He barely glances at Bruce as he heads to the door.

"Sorry Bruce, but I think I'm going to have to take a rain check on that movie. I'm going out tonight."

Bruce doesn't know why he's surprised. Everyone's told him that Tony Stark is a partier, but he's never really believed it until now because Tony really hasn't been doing that scene since Bruce got here. He'd honestly thought that the rumors had just been the wistful imaginings of the nightlife crowd.

Okay, so maybe not.

"Ah, okay. Some other time then." Tony shoots one of his megawatt grins in Bruce's direction, but not actually at him because Tony's not _looking at him_.

"Right, well, don't wait up yeah?"

"What did Natasha and Clint want?" He blurts, desperate to keep Tony here as long as he can in case the man changes his mind.

Tony is turned away from him, hand on the door panel, but Bruce sees him tense slightly. "Tony?"

"They were just pointing out a flaw in my armor." He makes a motion, more of a forceful slash than a wave, and then he's gone.

Bruce tries to watch the movie, but it isn't as funny as it was a few weeks ago.


	5. First Sketchy Employer

The third time that Natasha and Clint visit, they don't come alone. They also once again fail to actually _tell _Bruce that they're coming.

Bruce has had a rough week. The first night that Tony went out has not been the last. Indeed, he has gone out every night since then, and he's been spending more and more time during the day out on 'work-related business'.

Which would make a lot more sense except for the fact that Pepper often calls and asks him where the hell is that moron, tell him to get his ass into work.

What's worse is what Tony's like when he actually makes it ho—to the mansion. Bruce is making an effort to distance himself ever since Tony started acting cool towards him, because he's seen enough of these situations on TV sitcoms to know that such behavior usually precedes either a break-up or else a proposal, and he can't see Stark getting down on one knee any time soon.

He's spending less time than ever in the lab, and quite a bit more of it in the lounge entertaining 'company', primarily consisting of beautiful models of both the male and female persuasion. Bruce's only consolations in these situations are that Tony never does _that _with the models in the mansion (that he can tell; it's a big mansion) and that the billionaire never smells like alcohol when he comes ho—_mansionward. _Not that Bruce gets close enough to tell too often. The genius doesn't avoid Bruce, per say, he just only talks about work and superficial jokes with him, and there is no affectionate touching and arms around shoulders in sight. Like colleagues… like strangers.

Bruce has had an entire week of this treatment, so it is understandable that when Natasha and Clint find him he is methodically hitting his head against the smooth wood of the workshop table.

"You see why we called you." He hears Natasha say dryly. Bruce blinks up at her and Clint, accompanied by… "Pepper!" Anticipating what her arrival means, he adds gloomily, "I don't know where Tony is. He left an hour ago with two fraternal twin models that only spoke Swedish."

Clint raises a brow. "Do they know that you speak Swedish?" Bruce shrugs.

"Funnily enough, it didn't com up. Tony seemed to be doing just fine without a translator." He adds, remarkably bitter considering he has no real claim to Tony that the Swedish models are infringing on. "Jag hatar mitt liv." He returns to his trusty table. "Dum. Dum. Dum."

A hand grabs the back of his chair and yanks him back from the table.

"Oookay, Banner, enough flaunting your masochistic tendencies. We're hear, so you've got that base covered." Clint grins. Natasha gives him a softer—for Natasha—look.

"You seemed distressed on the phone, and after talking to Ms. Potts, we decided to survey the situation personally." Pepper looks remarkably unruffled for someone who has just had a 'talk' with Natasha Romanov. She offers Bruce a weary smile Bruce.

"Been there, done that." She says, and Bruce feels a rush of both sympathy and jealousy, because he doesn't want anyone else to have been here and done this about Tony Stark, ever.

God, he's got issues.

"I don't know what I did." He says mournfully, running his hands through his hair.

Pepper clucks her tongue. "You didn't do anything wrong. Tony's being an ass as usual. Don't worry, He'll get over his hissy fit; he always does. In the meantime…"

"Take a shower and suit up, Banner. You've got a party to crash."

It is only after he's been ushered through an irate queue of party guests and situated in a corner of the grand ballroom, watching the shimmering swirl of gowns move like tides across the dance floor, that Bruce realizes he might be underdressed. He looks briefly down at his nice but understated black pants and dark green shirt, then at the tuxedoed gentlemen gliding past, noses perpetually in the air.

He might also be out of his element.

The entire debacle is made even more awkward because Natasha is here for a job—no assassinations, she assures—and Clint has fled to somewhere in the rafters already, leaving Bruce with a elegantly garbed Pepper Potts and a crippling silence.

"Uh, I—" Should he ask her to dance? The only dances he really knows are the Macarena and the electric slide, and even then he tends to miss some steps. The people on the dance floor all seem to be gunning for spots on Dancing with the Stars.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this, Bruce." Pepper says, cutting him off and looking at him earnestly over her glass of champagne. Bruce blinks.

"Well, I mean, it's better than sitting at home and denting the table." He offers, although he can't really say much more than that. Pepper laughs shortly, strained.

"I don't mean… I shouldn't have let Tony box you in like this. Making it so you were totally dependent on him and then just up and leaving you high and dry. It's just, he does this. He gets interested and he seems totally invested, and you think that he's this fairytale prince that's going to sweep you off your feet and you're Cinderella, but then he just, he just—" She cuts off, face slightly red and blinking back tears. Bruce eyes her carefully.

"Well, I'm a man, so I never really thought of it in terms of being Cinderella…"

_"Indeed, and I am your Prince Charming, here to rescue you from a life of mediocre technology!"_

Okay, so maybe he had. "But I'm hardly boxed in. I have a steady enough income that I could find an apartment pretty easily, should the need arise. And there's always Calcutta. I bet the rent's better there anyway." Pepper is still blinking, but this time in bemusement.

"Calcutta." She says, nonplussed. Right, that was a Tony moment, Everything lately seems to be a Tony moment. "But I thought you were still at the mansion. Tony never mentioned…"

"Ah, well, Tony might actually not know?" Bruce offers hesitantly. "JARVIS helped do it under the radar, and I'm sure that Tony could find out if he really wanted to, but I guess it just hasn't come up." Which is sort of weird, because Tony is a bit of a control freak when it comes to his mansion. Pepper looks at him like he's just told her he's pregnant with Tony's child.

"JARVIS is helping you behind Tony's back."

"Well, don't make it sound so nefarious. It's not so cloak and dagger. We're just keeping it hushed, but it's not really—"

But Pepper isn't listening anymore, because she's too busy laughing.

"You—and he doesn't—but this—this is GOLD. He's going to be furious! His own brainchild, liking Stepmommy better!"

"Again with the feminine comparison?" Bruce murmurs under his breath. Pepper ignores him, still giggling.

"Do I need to be jealous, because I think I'd snap this guy like a twig." A man's voice, warm with humor, chimes in.

Bruce recognizes Rhodey from the pictures in Tony's house, but this is his first time meeting him. He's a little unsure how he's supposed to respond to this opening statement. He wants to be indignant, but seeing the military build of John Rhodes, he really can't disagree.

Pepper smiles, waving him over and preceding to tell him the apparently hilarious story. Rhodes too cracks up, although thankfully not quite as dramatically as Pepper.

"I've heard about you, Dr. Banner. Tony won't shut up about you."

Bruce blushes, discomfited and also strangely bereft. "I highly doubt that's the case anymore, Mr. Rhodes." He says softly. Pepper shoots her boyfriend a reprimanding glance, which he acknowledges with an apologetic smile before offering his hand to Bruce.

"Here's a deal; you call me Rhodey and I'll ditch the 'Dr. Banner'. Sound good?" Bruce shakes the outstretched hand.

"Perfect." He says sincerely.

"Now, I would love to pump you for details on JARVIS defecting to your side, but first I'm going to have to steal Ms. Potts. They're playing our song." A slow, romantic waltz has started up, and couples are swiftly pairing off or else slinking to the sidelines with their tails between their legs.

"Oh? I didn't know this was our song." Pepper says, giving Rhodey a wry smile. He bows over her hand, grinning.

"Any song's our song if it means I get to dance with you."

_I think I just threw up a little._

But he nods them off with a fixed smile when Pepper looks at him askance. As soon as they're out of sight he hoofs it for an abandoned corner alcove near the back so that he can stay out of sight and drop the happy act. He slips into the shadow, sighing in relief.

He watches as Pepper twirls across the dance floor with Rhodey, love and laughter glowing on their faces. He watches as Natasha approaches an older man in a charcoal suit, moving like a tigress, smirking confidently and entirely within her element. He can't _see _Clint, but he just knows the bastard is sitting snug as a bug somewhere up there probably spitting on the bald heads of patrons and having the time of his life.

Lucky bastards, bringing him here to cheer him up and then ditching him to go be all happy. He eyes the wall. Solid oak paneling, good strength and resilience.

"Hello, my friend."

And so he stands in a minute or so in the abandoned alcove, methodically trying to beat Tony out of his head against the impressively crafted wall.

"Having a good time?"

…Or at least he thought it was abandoned.

He yelps as a figure detaches itself from the shadows with suspect ease. The man that looks at him is tall and broad, with raven dark hair and ice blue eyes. It's the smirk that gets him though; it's a smirk that he's only seen on the faces of rich, entitled company heirs with more ego than their considerable brains—so, basically, on Tony.

God he hates this crowd. One Tony is already more than he can handle.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm not interrupting something, am I?" He looks surreptitiously around for a floozy hidden somewhere in the alcove, but they seem to be alone.

"Not at all. I just tend to prefer the dark; less people watching."

Which is possibly either creepy or suggestive. Checking his face for any signs of leer, Bruce tentatively opts on creepy.

"I'm sure that you'd rather have one less person watching, so I'll just go find another shadowy corner and hope that one's not occupied, shall I?"

"Nonsense. Misery loves company." The man says dryly. "I'm not sure that the wall appreciates it though." Bruce winces.

"Right. Well, I—wait a minute, how long have you been standing there?"

The other man shrugs, an impressive movement given his shoulder span. "Since before you began getting acquainted with the wall." Seeing Bruce's incredulous look, he explains. "I didn't want to intrude."

"Because I was having such a marvelous time." Another shrug. How does he even fit through a doorway?

"I'll lend an ear, if you'd care to spare the wall." Bruce immediately shakes his head, because that is just asking for trouble and what If this guy is a reporter who saw him come in with Pepper. "Either way, I'm not leaving this alcove, and I doubt you'll find another unoccupied one. They tend to be, ah, prime real estate, shall we say?"

…Right. Tony would love that.

"And you're willing to let a total stranger talk your ear off about how his life is emulating Enron… why exactly? Other than the real estate angle, since we both know you could make me leave." The man smiles, a rather sharp and scary thing that sort of reminds Bruce of Loki, except less crazy.

"Entertainment value?"

Or not.

"—So tonight, I get dragged here to 'cheer me up', but end up chatting with a stranger in a dodgy nook." Bruce takes a deep breath. "So… yeah. Enjoying the party? I didn't even get your name." The man smiles faintly.

"And you won't be. Anonymity is the best in matters like this that you'll regret in the morning,"

"I'm not drunk." Bruce says indignantly. He's actually on a strict no-alcohol diet because he thought it might help… his liver. And things.

"Regardless." The man leans back against the wall elegantly. "Feel better?"

To Bruce's surprise, he actually does. His friends might be good at many things (most of them illegal), but one thing they do not excel at is hashing out feelings. Sex? Great. But feelings…? Mission Impossible.

"Yes. Thank you, mysterious stranger." If he were Tony, he'd make some joke about this guy being his dark knight, but that was too corny for utterance so Bruce just smiles at him.

"Good. Now, somewhere in there I heard about spiders?" Bruce thinks for a moment.

"Oh! Spider silk! Yes, that's just something I'm working on for fun."

"How's it coming?"

Immediately alarm bells go off in Bruce's head. Carefully he says, "That wouldn't really interest you. You don't have to pretend."

The man raises one sculpted brow. "You'd be surprised."

Bruce nods, already edging towards the exit. "I'm sure. I should really go join my friends; wouldn't want them to get worried."

The man watches him with cool blue eyes. "Code W122177."

Bruce blinks. "How did you…?" It's the anonymous client's messaging code. The man smiles slightly again.

"Birthday and initial. I didn't want you to think you were creating something for a disreputable party."

"But… that… why didn't you just use your name?! I'm much more likely to trust that than a random stream of numbers and letters."

"You'll find that privacy is very important to my line of work. Deniability also plays a role; you might know that I was W122177, but even someone with your resources would have trouble proving it."

W…?

"…And you're Bruce Wayne, aren't you?" The man's smile grows slightly more genuine, and also slightly condescending. He should really watch the news more, rather than cartoons and test tubes. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a paranoid individual, Mr. Wayne?"

"Also customary in my occupation."

"Being the figurehead of a major corporation?" He thinks of Tony, and the number of attempts on his life that he's mentioned to Bruce in an offhand way. "I'll rephrase; are you sure you're being paranoid _enough, _Mr. Wayne?"

"I think you're the first person to ever ask me that." Bruce can believe it.

"Sure. So, I'm guessing you want to hear about my progress?" Wayne settles back into the alcove, his face hidden in shadow.

"If you don't mind." It's not a request, but Bruce finds that talking about something that he's passionate about that isn't tinged with Tony is rather appealing.

He's sure that he loses the man on some of the finer points, but he keeps up remarkably well for a layman. By the time he's done, he feels ten times better than he did walking in here.

"Could it translate to textile as well?" Bruce ponders.

"Rather than a propellant in a liquid state?"

"There's already something like that, ah, flying around. The creator hasn't seemed to master making the switch to clothing yet."

"I'd love to talk with him, compare our methods," Bruce admits. When no invitation seems forthcoming, he sighs. "So you're essentially talking about lightweight body armor." Something about that seems fishy. "I wasn't aware that Wayne Enterprises was interested in the weapons trade." The man raises an eyebrow again, which is really starting to annoy Bruce because Wayne has spectacular eyebrows and he abuses the privilege. The eyebrow seems to mock, _And you know so much about my company, he who didn't recognize my face until five minutes ago?_

"Hardly a weapon, doctor. Besides, the armor won't be mass-produced. It's for a private client, a friend of mine." It is very hard to imagine this man having friends. Bruce wonders if they are as shady as him.

"I hope this isn't his birthday present." Wayne continues to look at him, polite smile firmly in place. If Tony were here, he'd have laughed and then built on the joke. "Is there a deadline?"

"As soon as possible." Wayne says. Bruce is a little offended; what, did Wayne think he was off drinking pina coladas on the Malibu beaches and ignoring his obligations?

"Good. Well, now that we're above table on this, I suppose I should ask if you have any specifications."

The man considers. "Could it be integrated with Kevlar?" What sort of friends was this man thinking of? Still, it's an interesting thought.

"Well, it would certainly help with the compression frailties of Kevlar if you had it as a shell. Yes, I suppose it's possible. Do you want to give the me the garment and I can see—"

"That won't be necessary."

Uh huh.

"Fine, great, I'll just make you a mesh and you can tailor it."

Wayne nods regally, his silhouette turning to watch something over Bruce's shoulder.

"I believe that your presence is required, Dr. Banner." Bruce turns and sees that indeed, Natasha is approaching with Clint being dragged behind her.

"Oh, right. So, I should just ask JARVIS to tell you when it's ready?" Wayne steps from the shadows, and Bruce wonders again how he bloody does that.

"Since we are 'above table' on this, I think it would be appropriate if you called me personally." He pulls a business card from God knows where, which Bruce takes. It's simple cardstock with the Wayne logo emblazoned on the front, a phone number written neatly on the back.

"So do you just carry these around, or…?" Wayne doesn't answer with anything but a smug smile, and Bruce rolls his eyes. Of course he planned this. Damn billionaires. By then Natasha is almost upon them, and Wayne slinks back into the shadows.

Something strikes Bruce. "Wait! If you knew all that, then why were you acting like a good Samaritan and playing the friendly card?" _Badly_, he adds spitefully. If you wanted to talk work—"

A dark chuckle emanates from the darkness, but Bruce fails to locate Wayne, which should be impossible because they're in a _cranny_ for goodness' sake.

"I prefer my investments to be profitable, Dr. Banner. An unhappy investment rarely flourishes."

Bruce opens his mouth to reply but Natasha yanks him back from the corner.

"Bruce, are you well? This beelyat only just informed me that you were tugged into a secluded place by a suspicious male."

"I was watching to make sure he didn't try anything! Bruce was safe the whole time." Clint whined. Bruce is touched that they were worried, but also a little weirded out that Clint was watching his entire conversation with Bruce Wayne in a shadowy corner.

"It's fine. Mr. Wayne was just talking to be about a job."

Natasha raises a brow, looking past him into the alcove. "He is very good at remaining unseen, this Mr. Wayne." The suspicion in her tone is unmasked. Indeed, the serious man appears to have vanished. It is one thing for Bruce to be fooled, but for Natasha to miss him is quite remarkable. "No matter. We are departing; I am finished with my business here."

He feels a shiver go down his spine as they walk away from the corner towards the door, and there is still no sign of Bruce Wayne anywhere in the gala. Something is strange about Mr. Wayne, of that there is no doubt.

Clint appears to have no such reservations. "Wayne huh? Man, you sure know how to hook 'em, Banner. Planning to make your other playboy genius billionaire philanthropist jealous?"

Bruce stutters and blushes, and it is only when they are safely instilled in the car and on the way back to drop him off at the mansion that he manages to choke out,

"Work! It's just work!"

…At least with Mr. Wayne.


	6. First Reconciliation

Author's Note: So, guess who just got their first... 'critically constructive review', shall we say for the sake of politeness? I'm actually sort of excited, because people say there's a fine line between love and hate, which means that really this person essentially loves my story, right? Right. In celebration, here's another chapter. Also, points to anyone who figured out who the other dude interested in spider tech is. He probably won't show up here, but I thought after I wrote the spider silk bit that he deserved at least a shout-out. Also, sorry Wayne is a little evil lord of evil-y here. He's a nice guy, I swear, but have you _read _Batman comics? That guy's got a few bats in his belfry. He he he.

* * *

The spider silk is ready within the week, and Bruce has never been prouder. This might perhaps be overcompensation due to the fact that there's really nothing else to be happy about, at least on the Tony front.

Bruce Wayne is even terser on the phone, but he seems to warm to Bruce once he tells him that his pet project is done. Indeed, once they've made (paranoid) transport plans for the package, he asks Bruce what he would recommend for optimum flight efficiency for a boomerang underwater. To be honest, Bruce has never really considered _using _a boomerang underwater, but it's an interesting thought. He promises to think on it.

A week later he calls again with the prototype. He warns that the alloys necessary are rather expensive, which earns him a rare chuckle from the man on the other line. Oh. Right. Billionaire.

This trend continues for the rest of the month. He wouldn't say that he and Wayne are friends exactly, because Wayne doesn't seem the type to have friends, but he brings Bruce fantastical prompts and pays him heftily to tinker with them, so all in all Bruce would say they have a satisfactory relationship.

Unlike his shaky friendship with Tony. Honestly, he's baffled that the man hasn't booted him from the house already. Maybe he thinks he's already gone? They never see each other.

Bruce has even moved away from his bedroom across the hall, because Tony has made the leap to inviting his 'friends' over for their nightcaps, and that is something that Bruce would be quite fine without even if he wasn't nursing a rather gargantuan crush—because it is just a crush, he tells himself fiercely—on the playboy.

He's also started spending more time out of the house, feeling lonely when Tony is gone and uncomfortable when Tony is there.

He has lunch with Pepper and Rhodey, which is a little awkward since Rhodey still hangs out with Tony quite a bit and most of the meal is spent with Pepper trying to commiserate with Bruce about the impossible man and Bruce trying to stuff his face with as much food as possible so that he doesn't have to join in. Still, they mean well and when Pepper isn't attempting to empathize with him, they are good company.

Natasha and Clint have taken to kidnapping him for breakfast at odd intervals. Luckily all they have to say on the subject of Tony is that he is a mudak and an asshole, respectively. Otherwise they regale Bruce with what little of their missions is not confidential, which is extremely entertaining and often inciting of incredulity.

He exchanges emails with Betty and Leonard, who are off on some anniversary trip, the purpose of which seems to be almost exclusively to avoid Betty's rather terrifying relatives, most especially her father. Still, they seem happy. It's both galling and satisfying to see two of his friends so content.

Now that he thinks about it, he spends the majority of his time with three sets of happy couples. No wonder he's so depressed.

This is the main reason why when Bruce Wayne mentions that he's back in town, and did Bruce have any idea about how to make the spider silk intrinsically waterproof without adding other materials, that Bruce makes the rather harried offer of dinner.

There is a long pause, and then "Do you mind dining in?" Because of course the man is too paranoid to eat in public.

"Not at all, as long as we're not dining in here."

Bruce Wayne has a private chef who is very good at his job. They sit out on the patio and watch the sun set and the stars overcome their shyness and peep out.

They talk primarily about the spider silk. Bruce isn't quite sure what Wayne's friend is doing swimming around in a bulletproof vest, but the enigmatic man is unsurprisingly unforthcoming.

The man is unsurprisingly unforthcoming on most things, actually. Other than spider silk, Bruce is reduced to making small talk about the Malibu scenery in order to fill the silence. Wayne does not help in this regard.

Finally, after an excruciatingly one-sided conversation about tidal patterns, Wayne says out of the blue: "Does Mr. Stark know that you're here?"

Bruce blinks a bit, because that sounds like Wayne is checking for witnesses.

"Noooo." He says, truthfully. "I don't think so. JARVIS is aware of my movements, however." _Ha! No killing me and hiding my body in your spacious backyard tonight, Mr. Wayne. _

The man smiles. "Interesting." He swirls his wine thoughtfully while Bruce takes a sip of his juice and tries not to feel like a child at the adult table. He's still abstaining from alcohol, although he's not sure why anymore. He's not really in sight enough to be a good role model, as laughable as the concept is for other reasons.

"'Interesting?' What's so interesting about that?" Wayne looks up at him, eyes like ice.

"I make it a point to be aware of my competition's weaknesses, Dr. Banner." Bruce swallows, hard.

"I'm not… I think you have the wrong idea." He can't claim total innocence because of his breakdown at the party—which was probably the point, the bastard. "Tony really could care less about me. I'm sure I told you that." Wayne's smile turns rather bitter.

"I think you will find that powerful men will run from anything that they feel endangers that power."

"Are you including yourself in that statement?" Bruce asks acidly. Wayne chuckles.

"More than most." Huh. "I'm not the only one who must have noticed your association. He's put you in a rather perilous position by taking you into his home and showing a rather conspicuous preference. There are those who would take advantage of such a preference."

"Would you?" Bruce asks, point blank. Wayne considers him seriously over the rim of his glass. Then he says, deliberately,

"Love is weakness, Dr. Banner, but it is not one that I am overly eager to abuse."

"L-Love?" Bruce chokes, faintly glad that he wasn't still sipping his drink to occupy his restless hands. "That's…"

No rebuttals spring to mind. Bugger.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You feel betrayed by his distance. I am telling you to not take such actions at face value, but also to reexamine your own situation. Mr. Stark is not a safe person to form an attachment to. It might be better if you reconsidered your association."

Bruce feels cold. 'Reconsider his association?' 'Perilous position?'

**Love is a weakness. **

Bruce places his hands on the table. For once they are completely steady.

"Thank you for your advice. I'll be sure to work on the silk's impermeability." He stands. "I think… that I'd like to go _home _now."

The mansion he comes home to is dark and quiet. He gives a brief hello to JARVIS before heading to his room. He is tired from his meeting with Wayne, a million questions lobbying for answers in his head.

"Sir, I believe you have forgotten something in your old quarters."

Bruce doesn't think that's possible, considering he spent an entire day trying to distract with the move, but he nods. "Thanks, JARVIS."

He takes the elevator up another floor and heads to his old room. There is no noise coming from Tony's, for which he is absurdly grateful.

The door hisses open… and Tony Stark is on his bed.

Bruce's first reaction is to pinch himself. Ouch. Still awake.

His second thought is that Tony must be so insanely wasted that he forgot which room was his, which would be a great working theory except for the fact that there is not a hint of alcohol in the air, and if he were that smashed, Bruce probably could have smelled it or the ensuing vomit from the hallway.

So he's left with the option that for some reason, a stone-cold sober Tony Stark has decided that it would be a good idea to lie down in Bruce's bed. Outside of a dream.

"Tony?" He asks carefully.

The figure on the bed goes taut all over, and then the man is springing up and staring at Bruce as though he's seen a ghost.

"I thought…" Bruce looks at the bare shelves and empty closet, then back at Tony. The man looks haggard and pale, and his eyes are a little red. "I thought you left."

"I… no. I was just out." He's not sure now is the best time to mention Wayne's speech.

Tony takes an unsteady step forward before stopping abruptly. He doesn't look like he wants to.

"Out." He repeats, dully.

"Yeah." He shifts from foot to foot, wondering if he should ask why Tony had decided to lie on Bruce's bed rather than just asking JARVIS where he'd gone. Surely the thought had occurred to the genius.

Tony sighs, a harsh sound that shatters the delicately, precariously balanced silence.

"Bruce, I don't—" he stops, swallowing. "What do you _want_ from me?"

Bruce bites back an answer that would undoubtedly be inappropriate in these circumstances, no matter how true. Besides, he's too bewildered to be witty.

"Want from you? What are you talking about?"

Tony runs an agitated hand through his hair. He's started walking again, but not towards Bruce. Instead he is walking a tight circuit between the bed and Bruce's desk, pacing with vigor.

"What do I have to do? Apparently giving you your fucking space wasn't enough."

"Giving me—Is that why you were being such a prick all hours of the day and night? You were 'giving me space'?"

Tony growls at him without breaking pace.

"Of course! I tried to back off because you wanted me to, but that just seems to make you more upset! I can't be a friend, I can't be a colleague, I can't be _myself_—what exactly are you looking for me to be? I need a goddamn hint here, Bruce."

"…_What?" _Bruce feels the confusion welling up, and with it the old anger that never truly falls below a simmer. "_You _need a hint? I wake up one morning and it's like you're a whole different person! No more teasing me, or harping on my movies, or leaving me weird outdated candies that no one likes! What am I supposed to think?"

Tony looks floored. He's frozen, hand still stuck in his outrageously tousled hair and looking like Bruce has just denied heliocentricity.

"You… you _liked_ that?"

"Of course! I never said that I didn't."

Now Tony is glaring, which looks rather less effective because his hair looks ridiculous.

"No, you got Spy vs. Spy to say it for you."

Spy vs.—"Natasha and Clint?" Tony nods shortly. "I never said anything like that to them. Are you sure?"

"Kind of hard to mistranslate. They said that you weren't comfortable with touch, or people who were loud or overly friendly. That I was probably the absolute worst choice for a housemate that you could have chosen. They also said that I had better not try to force you into anything, or they would relocate my balls to separate continents."

Bruce makes a mental sticky note to _kill _his so-called friends the next time they decide to drop in unannounced. For now though…

"I _am _uncomfortable with all those things," Tony flinches, "_but _not with you." Seeing his incredulous look, Bruce continues. "It doesn't bother me when you do it. Normally I freeze up and get really nervous when I talk to people who are as extroverted as you. I always think that they're laughing at me. But I don't… I don't feel like you're laughing at me." He looks up hesitantly, because he has never put this fear into words before and he probably sounds like an idiot.

Tony takes a step towards him. "Never." He breathes. Bruce jolts for a moment, thinking Tony has somehow read his mind, but then he makes the connection and smiles, shyly pleased.

"And I never said that anything like that to Clint and Natasha. I think," He hesitates, trying to maneuver voicing this without giving away too much. "I think it was just their way of looking out for me, to make sure I don't get hurt. I'm rather solitary by nature, you see."

"No, you?" The humor is weak at best. Tony cocks his head to the side.

"So you didn't tell your goonies to scare me off?" Bruce shakes his head firmly.

"If I wanted you to tone it down, I'd tell you myself."

Tony nods. "I thought it was a little out of character, but they've known you longer."

"Apparently not long enough." Bruce says, rather darkly. Really, they had no business. "I wish they'd have told me; I'd have set them straight." A thought flickers. "Oh! And when you started being such a jackass after they talked to you—" "Hey!" "—then they must have thought that you'd been put off by… well, by me."

"Not a chance. I am enchanted by your twitchy philosophical charm."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. But thanks." Sort of.

"Any time." Tony pauses, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "And you like my boisterous, rapscallion, devil-may-cry self?"

"I like you when you're being yourself. If that means rapscallion devil-may-cry ways, then I'll be sure to send him off some compensatory tissues and chocolate."

"…That was sort of forced." Tony says, carefully, watching for a reaction, testing the waters.

Bruce shrugs at him helplessly. "I'm a little off my game today."

"Me too." He's still looking at Bruce with those dark, wary eyes. "I really want to hug you right now, but I'm worried there's a spy in your closet ready to force-initiate an orchiectomy if I try."

"As the only one here qualified to perform such a procedure, I'll have to pull rank and veto the operation."

Tony's face breaks into the widest smile Bruce has ever seen from him, which could be due to Bruce's timidly open arms or the fact that his reproductive organs are safe from harm. Despite his heartfelt empathy towards the latter, he really sort of hopes it's the former.

He's expecting something as tentative as this whole conversation has been, but he should know by now that Tony never does anything by halves. Bruce yelps when his feet leave the floor, but he hugs back just as hard when he regains himself, even though it feels like his ribs are cracking.

It's probably the first time such a sensation incites a positive feeling.

Eventually Tony lets his feet touch the floor again, but neither of them steps back. Bruce certainly isn't going to be the to initiate the move.

"I missed you." Tony says, which is ridiculous because Bruce had been the one left behind this whole time while Tony was off being dickishly gallant. Still…

"I missed you too." _More than you know._ Tony still smells like motor oil, metal and spices, but after laying on Bruce's old bed, he sort of smells like Bruce too—or at least Bruce likes to think so, although logically he knows that the bed must have been remade since he left.

…Okay, so Wayne might be on to something with the love comment. God **damn** it.

But he's dealt with being just the best friend of Tony, and he can do it again—especially if more hugs are involved. Hugs are good, ambiguously friendly territory. He can swing that.

"Promise you'll move back across the hall? We never got to have our nail-painting, hair-braiding slumber party."

"Promise me you'll stop trying to be noble? You kind of suck at it." Tony laughs, a sound which Bruce can _feel _rumbling against his chest where it touches Tony's.

"Never again shall I try to defy the natural order. You be the saint, and I'll be your shoulder devil."

"Would my shoulder devil like to watch a movie?"

"Picking up mind reading from our friend the Easter Bunny of Evil?"

"He can probably smite you, you know." Tony scoffs, which puffs a little gust of breath against Bruce's face. He tries not to shiver too obviously. Tony still hasn't let go. "Pick a movie, blasphemer."

"I've been feeling like a classic lately… _Bambi_?"

"I hate you." He's laughing though, and Tony is smiling at him like he can't stop and Bruce feels like he's floating, even though knows Tony hasn't tried to lift him again. "You're a bastard."

"But it's _our movie_, Brucey!"


	7. First Kiss (Finally) and Confession

Author's Note: I think this might be the last one. I felt like I should stop torturing the poor dears, and I can't really write smut, so we're sort of stuck in the limbo of heavy petting and suggestive segues here. Maybe I'll stick some other chapters in before the big resolution, or maybe I'll finally get the guts to write sex scenes-in either case, please enjoy this somewhat of a wrap-up chapter. Thank you to my super kind reviewers, who have taught me why authors on here all seem to be hooked on the drug that is a review. I'm now hooked as well. Also, thank you to a certain reviewer from whom I shamelessly stole the word "Clintasha". Oh, also: there is some explicit language in this part (pretty much exclusively Tony). If that bothers you, I apologize. I think if I were Tony though, I'd swear in this situation, and I never swear, so... Yeah. Enjoy!

* * *

The fifth, sixth and seventh time that Clint and Natasha visit, Bruce actually doesn't realize it because they never make it past the front gate. Tony has taken his newly restored friendship with Bruce as blessing to spy-proof the house. Apparently he does a very good job.

The _eighth _time Natasha and Clint visit, they actually call to say they're coming. Upon arrival and automated entry by JARVIS, they discover Bruce in a rather compromising position.

He is sitting on the couch; a documentary on Australian wildlife (more violent than a slasher film) is playing on mute, and Tony is sprawled out next to him, his head in Bruce's lap. Bruce is rubbing his temples absently, still looking at the screen, although he looks up when the two spies slip in.

At this point he's assuming JARVIS is humoring them, or else they've figured out how to bribe an AI.

"And this is where the Tony shark encounters the Clintasha, which is now classified as an _endangered species."_ Tony says casually, as a Great White onscreen rips into… well, it's a little hard to tell at this point. For all they know it could be a Clintasha.

"The Clintasha, of course, is an invertebrate characterized by its alarmingly large nose, which it can't seem to stop _sticking into other people's business." _Bruce adds seamlessly, mimicking the bored tones of the narrator, his eyes never leaving the screen.

The pair who has just arrived looks at each other in a rare show of nervousness.

"Well, all's well that ends well and—"

"Yeah, no." Tony says flatly. "Try again."

"We never told you to be a dick to Bruce!" Clint explodes. "We told you to be _careful_, because you were on thin ice."

"You told him things that you had no right telling anyone." Bruce says, tightly leashing his anger so that he doesn't start yelling, He doesn't think he could stop. "It's my past, and my choice who I share it and the rest of me with. How would you feel if I went around telling people about what _you've_ done?"

Natasha looks stricken. "You said it didn't matter what I'd done."

Bruce sighs, transferring a hand from Tony's hair to his own. He finally looks at the new arrivals.

"And it doesn't, Tasha. But I wouldn't go around telling everyone, because they might not feel the same." She looks down. "Why would you say that to Tony in the first place?"

"Doc, you know what he's like. We just didn't want you getting hurt." Clint says lowly.

"So you judged _Tony _by his past, even though he'd been nothing but kind to me." Seeing their hedgy looks, he sighs. "Have a seat. I think we need to talk about boundaries. Tony?"

Tony's smile bears an uncanny resemblance to the Great White's before a kill.

The interesting position is just one of many that they could have walked in on. Since he and Tony sort of worked out (one of) their issues, the billionaire has been taking every opportunity possible to touch him, like he's stored up all of his hugs and hair ruffles and poky fingers from the time they weren't talking. In fact, he's being even more hands-on than before, if that were possible.

Bruce's therapist had always wanted him to have exposure therapy to touch, but he's pretty sure this isn't what she'd had in mind. Tony appears to have developed a rare bone degenerative disorder that only activates around Bruce; when the shorter man is within draping distance, drape on him Tony must.

It would try the patience of a saint, and Bruce is not a saint by any stretch of the imagination.

This trend continues even after Bruce and Tony finally finish their tirade and a pale Natasha and Clint stumble out into the kitchen.

"Tea?" Bruce asks pleasantly. Tony tousles Bruce's hair as he enters the kitchen, and Bruce must be imagining that his hand seems to brush against his neck as it falls away.

Right?

"Got anything stronger?" Clint croaks. Bruce does not wait for Tony to tense to react at all.

"We have coffee. Tony brewed it, so it's rather akin to lighter fluid and has been known to burn holes in mugs. Strong enough for you?"

"…Tea is fine."

"Thought so."

Bruce definitely is _not_ imagining the graze of fingertips against the inside of his wrist when he hands Tony his tea. He knows because Natasha shoots him a speculative glance right after. He smiles innocently. Living with Tony has made him better at lying.

"As astonishing as it may seem, we actually did not come here to be tag-teamed by a pair of mad scientists." Clint drawls, swirling his teacup gently. Bruce is almost sure that he's checking for poison. Natasha hasn't touched hers.

Bruce takes a hearty, slightly sadistic sip.

"Consider it an added bonus." Tony says cheerfully. "I sure am."

Clint glares.

"We are here to inform Stark that his country needs him once again."

There is a dead silence. Bruce really does not want that to mean what he thinks it means.

"I don't really like clingy countries; they smother me." Tony says, blasé. "I'll take a pass on this one."

"It wasn't a request." Natasha says flatly.

"And yet somehow I'm still refusing."

Bruce wonders who would win in an all-out brawl between Iron Man and the two trained killers. But Tony doesn't have the suit, it's down in the lab for safety checks, and in a fight between _Tony _and these two…

"Why hasn't Director Fury contacted u—Tony?" He has to forcibly remind himself that not every world-endangering plot involves tracking gamma rays, and that Clint and Natasha never said anything about him. He blushes in shame when Tony looks at him, just a little flick of his coffee-colored eyes but so much knowledge in them.

"The Director thought that Mr. Stark might be more… receptive to our suggestion."

"Meaning he didn't think Bruce would let me kill you, because you've somehow tricked him into liking you." Tony translates.

Bruce does not mention that he is seriously reconsidering that position.

"You're one to talk." Clint remarks, eyeing the small space remaining between their chairs. Tony scoffs.

"I'll have you know that Bruce and I share a deep, meaningful connection—we're scientific soul mates!"

And then he says things like that while _touching Bruce_, and Bruce once again pats himself on the back for not jumping the man.

Clint and Natasha are also staring at them with interesting expressions. Their eyes flit briefly to each other's, and then back to Tony.

"We can provide additional incentive not to refuse. You don't want us to do that, Mr. Stark."

"I would love to see you try."

Natasha pauses, considering him. Clint smiles darkly.

"You really wouldn't." Bruce knows that Tony would rather cut off his own arm than back down from a fight. Bruce tries to decide whether to dive under the table for cover or attempt to use the soup ladle as a weapon.

"Seriously? Maybe we should just settle this with a game of rock, paper scissors so that we'll be done by naptime." Bruce sighs, rubbing his temples. Tony snorts.

"I'm fine with that."

"You cheat." Bruce reminds him.

"And you think they don't?"

"I imagine it doesn't come up much in spy school."

"Funded by ACME?"

"Of course. And—"

"Are you two going to keep flirting? Because either we need an answer or I need a bucket."

Bruce turned beet red, missing the considering look that Tony sends him. That wasn't flirting! Did it look like he was flirting? Is Tony going to think that Bruce was trying to flirt with him, and start acting all weird again?

"…Banner comes with."

"He wasn't requested." Natasha says, although Bruce sees the slight tense of her jaw. "It would be putting him in needless danger—"

"Banner. Comes. With."

Natasha frowns at him, then sighs. "I suppose that would be up to Dr. Banner." Three sets of eyes are looking at him expectantly. He gets the feeling that they are expecting two different things however.

He thinks of Tony

"If it's not too much trouble…"

The mission is not too much trouble. Indeed, Bruce is a little surprised that they felt a need to assemble the Avengers in the first place. Some crackpot group of reptilian-themed individuals unfortunately dubbed the Serpent Society (Tony took a good five minutes to calm down after the big reveal) has decided for unfathomable reasons to take out their snaky vendetta on humanity at large.

They are not very good at it.

The main topic of discussion is, in fact, not the Serpent Squad at all—it is Bruce Banner's own presence. While no one has been hostile towards him, it seems like every time that Bruce enters a room the people there abruptly stop whispering and begin to loudly speculate on the weather until he leaves.

It is a bit discomfiting, although he highly prefers it to the open interrogations from the Avengers themselves.

"So, you and Stark are… living together." Steve says dubiously. Bruce has spent the last ten minutes convincing the spangled hero of this fact, so now he just nods wearily. "And… you want to?"

"Yes, Steve. There is no mind control, blackmail or other coercion going on here." Really, Steve seemed to think that Tony was some sort of much-more-attractive Voldemort.

Heh, speaking of snakes.

"But he's so… so…"

"Wonderful? Alluring? Charismatic?" Bruce sighs as Tony does the draping thing again behind him. Steve, who has never seen the phenomenon firsthand, stares so hard Bruce worries his eyes are going to leave his head.

"I take it you've captured Copperhead then?" He asks cordially, ignoring the prickle of Tony's beard against his neck. It just tickles, that's all.

"I could have done it _without _the suit." Tony whines. "Why are we here, Bruce?"

"I was about to ask you that myself, doc." Steve says, eyes still reminiscent of a lemur. "I'm pleased as punch to see you again—" Tony shakes with a silent laugh at the corniness; Bruce is just happy he keeps it silent. "—but I wasn't really expecting it to be on SHIELD business." The implication being that Bruce has no place in SHIELD business. Bruce really can't disagree.

"It's a little complicated…" He hedges, because saying 'Because Tony asked me to' sounds so pathetic that he can't force the words past his lips.

"Because I asked him to." Apparently Tony has no such reservations, at least when it comes to others' dignity.

Steve eyes the black-haired man skeptically for a moment. Bruce cannot see Tony's expression either, but something in the look that he's sporting makes Steve look away.

"I hope that I get a chance to catch up with you, Dr. Banner. Please feel free to stop by and see me when you're_ free_."

Bruce opens his mouth to say that he's free now, actually, but Steve is already gone.

Huh.

"So… wanna play Battleship?"

Bruce snorts. "Only if you want to lose."

It takes a few similar encounters with Phil Coulson, Clint and Thor—who brings him 'merry tidings of the most fervent and exultant ardor shared with my beloved brother'—before Bruce notices a pattern.

Tony touches him exponentially more around other people.

This is saying rather a lot, considering the man's normal setting seems to be 'barnacle'. When there are witnesses however, Tony is never _not_ touching Bruce. It has earned him more than one odd look when he is sitting at a canteen table sharing a plate of food with Tony. Tony says that he's never hungry enough for a plate of his own, and Bruce's looks better anyway. Bruce is unsure of the rationality of this argument, but hey, at least he knows Tony's eating. Others do not share this viewpoint. At one point Clint even says, exasperated,

"For God's sake, are you going to start rolling meatballs to each other with your noses?" Bruce is too busy chewing his mouthful of spaghetti to answer, eyes wide, but Tony smirks as he dips the fork back into the noodles for his own bite.

"Honestly Barton, don't be ridiculous—Bambi is a vegetarian."

Clint groans and hits his head against the plastic of the table. Bruce understands the feeling.

It is not just in the cafeteria that Bruce is noticing the trend however. When Phil tells Tony that he needs to go apprehend a poor sap named Bushmaster, the man theatrically collapses on Bruce's lap to complain.

When Steve is talking to Bruce about movies to watch in order to catch up on pop culture, Tony offers sarcastic suggestions from over Bruce's head as he rests his chin on it. He has to be stretching to make the move, because he's not that much taller, but he stubbornly remains in that position until Steve finally takes his leave.

Even when he is not trying to merge with Bruce like amoebas, he is still standing close enough that he might as well be. Bruce's already worn self-control is fast fraying.

He would almost think that Tony was interested in him as well, except for the fact that if Tony Stark were interested in him, he is sure the man would already have made his intentions clear. Stark is hardly a master of subtlety.

Which means that either he is just extremely affectionate with his friends and completely clueless as to Bruce's feelings, or else he knows and has decided to torture Bruce. He doesn't think that Tony is that cruel, which leaves Option A. Tony must really be just that oblivious to Bruce's emotions concerning him.

Some genius.

The Serpent Society is all apprehended in a matter of days. It's actually sort of depressing; Bruce is embarrassed on their behalf.

What is even more depressing is that as thanks to the 'saviors of the world'—even the prone-to-hyperbole Thor feels this is a bit much, considering—some high class society consisting mainly of rich cougars has decided to throw a victory ball for the team. Fury apparently had a hard time dissuading. How sad is it when a society of middle-aged elitist women is more menacing than a society of super villains?

When Bruce tries to wiggle out of it by protesting that he really wasn't part of the Avengers and had pretty much sat on his hands and shared pasta with Tony the whole time (okay, he didn't say that last part, but it was clear everyone was thinking it), but Tony glibly informs him that of course he's going, who else is going to be his plus-one?

This statement alone, accompanied by the raised eyebrows that it incites among the really rather nosy crew, would alone be enough to tell Tony to call up his Swedish supermodels and leave Bruce out of it.

However, Tony has already earlier said to him, in that rare serious voice that might or might not make Bruce's insides turn to mush, that he wants Bruce to come because the world would never know what he'd done with the Tesseract, and he deserved a goddamn victory party more than the other Avengers (Bruce assumes he was excluding himself in this statement) put together.

His intelligent reply, then and now, is: "Uhhhhhhh…"

Tony takes that as a yes, claps him on the back, and heads off to pack, leaving Bruce with the judgmental stares of the crew. He ducks his head and tries not to make eye contact with anyone for the remainder of the trip.

That night he does end up going with Tony, but only because they are both going the same way and Tony has a limo with a built-in video gaming system. He is not Tony's date and refuses to delude himself as such. If he is littler more vicious with his button-mashing than usual, occupied with the fact that he is not Tony's date, Tony doesn't mention it.

Attending a high class society function is about as much fun as it was last time—less so, because Tony keeps being intercepted by people who are very sure that they need to talk with the CEO of Stark Industries and the creator of the Iron Man suit _right now, _and that Bruce's presence is not required.

Although Tony brushes the first few off and people-watches with Bruce, the physicist knows that snubbing this many rich and powerful people will have consequences, and even if Tony doesn't care, Bruce does.

So when a man dressed in a steel-grey suit and with a glower that would put Eeyore to shame approaches them with a single-minded look in his eye, Bruce quickly excuses himself to the table containing appetizers—oh, sorry, _hors d'oeuvres. _

"Et tu, Brute?" Tony hisses as Bruce drifts away.

"I'll save you a plate." He whispers back as the man is almost upon them. "Have fun."

The table is mostly abandoned, so Bruce sets up camp there. He gathers one plate of Beef Wellingtons, shrimp puffs, crackers and cheese, and fills another with little dessert cups and pastries.

Popping both a vanilla and chocolate biscuit in his mouth (he had skipped dinner out of nervousness and is more than ready to settle the difference with free food), he turns around to find a dark-haired billionaire looming over him.

The wrong dark-haired billionaire, mind.

"Mmm!" He says suavely, unable to open his mouth to greet Mr. Wayne due to the fact that he is currently using it to store food for winter. He settles for a stupid little wave and tries to chew as fast and inoffensively as possible.

"Have you solved the impermeability issue with the silk textile?"

_Ever the conversationalist, Mr. Wayne. _

It's actually bit refreshing after being surrounded by all these hobnobbers. Bruce swallows the last bit of cookie and clears his . "Well, I had a few ideas. I wanted to run the necessary resources by you…"

He only gets to outline the first idea before something practically barrels into him.

"What have I told you about stranger danger, Bruce?" Tony says, smiling in an overtly false way.

Wayne's lips twitch. This only happens when a plan is falling into place, or he is about to cause someone pain. Neither means good things for Bruce.

"Actually Dr. Banner and I are already well-acquainted, aren't we Doctor?"

So the latter option then.

"Bruce?" Tony's voice is very even. Bruce decides to put his plates down in case this gets ugly. He fleetingly mourns the loss of the chocolate mousse.

"We have had meetings in the past, yes." He says, wondering how hard Wayne is going to push this. He can see a reason that the man didn't mention before for not wanting to give his name.

It appears that Tony Stark actively despises Bruce Wayne. Judging from Wayne's smile, the animosity may not be one-sided.

"Oh, didn't he mention?" Bruce may be cultivating a rather strong dislike of his own at the moment.

"Must have slipped his mind." Tony says. His hand falls lightly on Bruce's shoulder. "So how did you kiddies meet? At the gym? Macramé class? Fight club?"

"We met at a party a month or two ago. Dr. Banner was kind enough to do me a favor."

"A job." Bruce corrects, because Tony's hand is squeezing rather alarmingly on this shoulder and he'd rather keep his arm. Wayne chuckles.

"You wound me. Surely jobs don't invite one another to dinner?"

That fucking asshole.

"Dinner? When was this? I could have brought a salad." Tony says, and he has never been as light-toned as he is now. Bruce is honestly scared for his life.

"Oh, the last—" "Only." "—time was about a month ago. We really should schedule another, Dr. Banner."

_Sure. They serve food at wakes, right?_

"Uh-huh. You go check your calendar and Bruce'll get back to you." The hand spasms on his shoulder. Bruce wants to reach up and grab it, to cradle it and offer a soothing touch, but he really doesn't want to give Wayne any more ammunition. "In the meantime, we'd better get home before Bruce turns back into a pumpkin."

"Excellent. Have a safe trip. I'll contact you at a later time, Dr. Banner."

Bruce sort of nods over his shoulder, but he's being pulled through the crowd too fast to really see if the gesture is received. He hopes that one of the Avengers will see him being dragged out find the time to avenge his death.

The limo is already waiting. He ducks in, but instead of walking to the other side Tony slides in after him, forcing Bruce to shift to accommodate him.

"Drive." The bearded man says tersely to the driver. Bruce's eyes meet the chauffer's wide ones in the rear view mirror. The man is smart and selfish enough to roll up the divide as he obeys.

"Tony—"

"Bruce Wayne, Bruce? Bruce fucking Wayne? Do you have any idea how much like a sitcom that sounds? 'The Bruce and fucking Bruce Show', Fridays at 9."

Bruce blinks. "Am I the first Bruce or the second Bruce in that scenario?"

"Take your fucking pick! Or do you need to talk it over with _Bruce _over another dinner date? Have some one-on-one Bruce time?"

"I think you might have the wrong idea." Bruce tells him honestly, because one disaster of a meal with Bruce Wayne is enough to last a lifetime. He had no idea that Tony hated the man that much, or else he wouldn't have had the one.

"He seemed pretty clear. Two months? You didn't think this was important enough to mention for two months?"

"You weren't even aware I existed for one of those months!" Bruce argues, familiar anger taking over his nervousness. For once he welcomes it. Why does it matter who he talks to? He needed to talk to someone and Tony wasn't offering.

"Wasn't aware…! Well maybe if you'd told me you were spending all that alone time with Bruce fucking Wayne—"

"I think his middle name is Thomas, actually."

"Oh? He tell you that before or after you slept together?"

The horror that this image invokes is enough to stun Bruce into speechlessness for a moment. He wonders if brain bleach is chemically possible. Tony takes this silence as guilt.

"I can't believe—why him? Why Wayne? Why can he touch you that way, but not—"

Tony cuts himself off, wilting against the leather of the seats and burying his face in his hands.

"Not…?" Bruce prompts, curious despite himself. He feels something coiling inside his chest in anticipation, but he's not sure of what, he just knows that given their track record, anything Tony does not want to share is knowledge that needs to be obtained for the good of Bruce's sanity.

Tony exhales shakily, lowering his hands to stare at Bruce. His eyes are as dark as bruises.

"Why not me?"

Oh. Bruce feels a bit like he's just been kicked in the chest. He's paralyzed in his seat, not even daring to breathe. He doesn't pinch himself this time, because his dreams are never this perfect and if his subconscious has finally decided to give him a break, he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He would prefer, however, his subconscious to have skipped the Bruce Wayne bit and gone right to here.

"I know that I've got issues, but come on, next to Bruce Wayne I'm Miss Congeniality! I know it's not something shallow like the money or the fame or the looks, because hello! Tony Stark here. And it can't be that he's more convenient, because we _live together_ for Christ's sake. And there is not a chance in hell that he loves you more than I do, because you drive me so incredibly insane that I can't even think when you're not there next to me. So you'll have to fill me in here, Bruce; I'm phoning a friend, using my lifeline. What the hell is so special about Bruce Wayne? Is it because he's taller, because I'll buy fucking stilettos if that's what it takes!"

Bruce is too stuck on the 'love you' part to react to that particular picture.

Tony Stark loves him. Tony Stark is in love with him. He is the one that Tony Stark loves. He wants it in writing, so he can frame it and put it above his bed. He wants to get it tattooed across his chest and walk around without his shirt on.

He should really be giving an answer.

"Tony…" He says. The man is breathing heavily from his tirade, and staring at Bruce with cagey eyes.

"I… Bruce…"

He's going to do something stupid and Tony-ish, like taking it back, so Bruce lunges, covering the man's mouth with one hand and bracing himself on the seat with the other. Tony's brown eyes stare back at him, wide and almost scared. He does not try to break free.

Bruce takes a deep breath. "Anthony Edward Stark, listen very closely to what I am about to say." He waits until the man gives a slow nod, Bruce's hand brushing against his lips as he does so. Bruce breathes, deep, again. "At no time in the past, present or future have I even considered having concupiscent relations with Bruce Thomas Wayne, nor am I planning any such digressions with other third parties. Do you know why?" Tony shakes his head, entranced. "Because I am already entirely and irretrievably in love with a childish, brilliant man whom experience has taught me does not deal well with jealousy."

There is a strange blankness that overtakes what little of Tony's features that Bruce can see, a slackness that contrasts entirely with the taut line of his body.

And then _Tony _lunges, but instead of using his hand to cover Bruce's mouth, the man uses the ingenious substitution of his lips. He is truly a singularly gifted innovator.

Bruce spends a moment thinking that Tony is a very good kisser, and perhaps he should be concerned about the connotations of this fact, before he feels a wicked tongue tracing along his bottom lip and he stops thinking anything at all for a while.

Eventually they have to separate for air, although Bruce thinks that by that point they might have already broken the world record for longest held breath. Tony doesn't go far, kissing Bruce's cheeks and nose and jaw—no place is safe.

"Just—to be clear—" The older man breathes in between kisses. "The childish—brilliant man—is me, right?—I'd hate to—have to kill someone—for the title—"

"Yes." Bruce pants, eyes slipping shut, and then "_Yeeeees," _when Tony rewards this congenial answer by attaching to his neck like a bloody vampire. Bruce can finally see the appeal of _Twilight_. "Who else?"

Tony hums contentedly, which feels strange and sort of _wonderful _against the column of his throat. Bruce makes a breathless sort of gasp that causes Tony to repeat the motion vindictively.

Bruce's restless hands seem to have found their lost purpose in life, running up and down over the bumps of Tony's spine and tangling in his hair and trailing over every other inch of skin that they can reach.

"God I love you." He exhales, just because he can now.

Tony immediately finds his mouth again, leaning back against the seat and yanking Bruce into his lap, which is breaking about fifty traffic regulations (and causes Bruce to faintly thank the heavens that they don't have seatbelts in the way) but makes kissing infinitely easier. Bruce isn't about to complain about his new seat either, although when he shifts sometimes it feels a bit like he's straddling the gearshift. He's absolutely fine with that feeling, given the circumstances.

"Did you know I wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you?"

Bruce gasps in surprise and then pleasure as Tony leans in with another kiss. "I saw you there with your big brown doe eyes and your pristine lab coat, and I wanted to drag you out into the hall and rip it off you and take you until the only thing you remembered was my name."

"Ngh." Bruce offers, since his mouth is otherwise occupied.

"And then—" Tony huffs out a hot breath of laughter that washes along Bruce's collarbone. "And then you said you'd made a—what was it—'a proximity scrambler to jam any new surveillance data acquisition', and I knew I was in _trouble_."

"You, ah! You remember that?" That sounded like it was verbatim. Tony laughs again, a more desperate sound. Bruce presses a soothing kiss to the corner of his bitter smile. It still tastes sweet.

"Everything. It just got worse and worse; you were so fucking perfect, I thought the universe was playing a trick on me, a sort of fuck-you for all the times I'd tempted fate, because I knew as soon as the mission was over, you'd be gone. And I couldn't… I couldn't. So I asked you to live with me. I still think you're nuts for saying yes, by the way."

"I 'couldn't' either." Bruce whispers. Tony smiles softly at him and kisses him on the nose. Bruce glowers at him until he laughs and kisses him again on the mouth.

"And of course I took every opportunity to screw up possible." Tony says wryly. "When Clint and Natasha warned me off, I thought you'd finally wised up and it was only a matter of time before you left, so I tried to forget—"

Bruce stiffens, pulling away as much as the circle of Tony's arms allow. He feels cold.

"Yes, I heard. With Heidi and Carlotta and about a dozen others. You 'forgot' quite a lot."

Tony shakes his head. "Couldn't do it. Went as far as kissing and then I thought about you and I couldn't do it. I thought you hated my guts, and I still couldn't. I told you: I'm not a cheater."

Bruce thinks about arguing the semantics and specifics of cheating, but at the moment he's just overwhelmingly relieved that Tony hadn't slept with those people. He decides he can extend the rules to cover kissing at a later date, since he has that right now because _Tony Stark loves him back_. But later.

"Neither am I." He can't help but reproach, because in what universe is and Bruce Wayne and him as a couple a plausible scenario?

"I know. I do. It's just that when it comes to you I don't tend to think very clearly."

"I know the feeling." Bruce admits, before industriously returning to his earlier work. Tony heartily approves, judging by his drawn-out moan.

"And then tonight… It was supposed to be your night."

"Could have gone better." Bruce offers breathily, nibbling at Tony's jaw. "Could have gone worse."

"True. You could have run into the arms of Bruce fucking Wayne."

"Thomas." Bruce reminds softly, nipping reprovingly at the juncture between neck and shoulder before licking the hurt away. Tony makes the most delicious sound. "Besides, you should thank him. If he hadn't goaded you, who knows how long we would have been dancing around each other."

"Thank him?! I— Ah." Bruce looks up innocently as though his hand has not been creeping steadily down south this whole time. "Fine! I'll send him a goddamn cookie bouquet, just keep—"

"Sirs, we have arrived… some minutes ago." The intercom intones in a long-suffering way. Bruce jumps.

Huh. Now that he thinks about, he hadn't felt the car moving for a while now.

He looks back at Tony, who is watching him cautiously. "What?"

"You aren't going to freak out, are you? This wasn't some one-time magical limo ride?"

Bruce snorts. "Do those happen to you often?" He doesn't wait for an answer, because knowing Tony… "I'm not freaking out. In fact, I am going to go continue not freaking out in my room, on my bed. Feel free to join me at any time."

Tony smiles slowly at him. "My room's closer."

"By two feet!" When Tony's smile just gets wider, he flushes in excitement and embarrassment. "Point taken. Smug bastard."

"I love you too."

And Bruce's heart soars.

Much later, when Tony is still getting dressed and Bruce has left the room because Tony kept getting… distracted with him there, he looks at his messages.

JARVIS informs him that there is something from W122177. He clicks it open with no small amount of apprehension.

**Love is a weakness, Dr. Banner, but if it is an unavoidable one, you might as well enjoy it. Wish Stark a good morning for me. **

It is dated from the night before… a few hours _before_ Bruce and Tony arrived at the party.

…Bruce is now 90% convinced that Mr. Wayne is a criminal mastermind. Who else schemes that much and makes use of waterproof Kevlar? He makes a mental note to try to stay on the man's good side, assuming he has one.

He also makes a note to send Wayne a free batch of the waterproofed silk to go with the cookie bouquet.

"How are you even walking this morning? Clearly I need to remedy this grievous error." Bruce looks up as Tony enters the lab. The tag is sticking up out of the back of his Black Sabbath T-shirt and he's wearing sweats that hang tantalizingly low on his hips. His hair is sticking up in all directions and from above the collar of his shirt Bruce can see no less than three hickeys bruising his skin. He knows from experience that there are even more underneath the collar. He looks rather tired, but in a wholly self-satisfied way.

"Good morning, I love you." It just sort of slips out, as easy as breathing. He can't not say it.

Tony smiles at him in that easy, gentle way that is so beautiful it makes Bruce ache.

He pads across the room on silent feet and pulls Bruce up from his chair, pressing their foreheads together so that Bruce's world is contained within sparkling brown of Tony's eyes.

"Good morning. I love you too." He presses a fleeting kiss to Bruce's mouth that leaves him chasing the other's lips as they pull away. "I think that it's time for bed, Dr. Banner." Tony breathes, when Bruce's mouth catches his again.

It is 8 o'clock in the morning.

"Lead the way, Mr. Stark."


	8. First Finale (and Infinity)

Author's Note: Okay, some people wanted an epilogue, so here you go. If you were fine with the story before, go ahead and pretend this doesn't exist, much like the Star Wars Christmas special. If you wanted an epilogue... careful what you wish for. I personally think I butchered it. Oh! Also, way back there was a reference to 'devil may cry' instead of the conventional 'devil may care'. Just to clarify, Tony said it, and I feel like he's the type of person who would play _Devil May Cry _the game, so his mind would go there immediately. Also, I sort of like it better, because if a devil's mission is to tempt us to sin, yadda yadda, I imagine he cares quite a bit what's going on, but someone who makes a devil cry-! Scary stuff. Plus I wouldn't give a devil who cares tissues and chocolates; I'd probably send him a dinky "Thanks for Caring" card or something, and who wants that? Okay, I admit, I was just playing the game and mixed the phrases. Sue me. Which Marvel might unless I say: I do not own Avengers, Hulk, or Iron Man. Enjoy the fic!

* * *

Six months after the Avengers victory ball, the team is invited to another party: Bruce Banner's birthday celebration.

Bruce had had to talk Tony down from renting all of Disneyland—or would you prefer Disneyworld, Bruce?—and several other elaborate schemes, and also had to send out separate invites to Captain America and Bruce Wayne when Tony 'forgot'.

Bruce Wayne declines, citing urgent business in Gotham that he really can't leave unattended (Bruce thinks of the recent crime spree and immediately puts another check in the column for Bruce Wayne: Mob Boss), but Steve is ecstatic and spends the next month peppering Bruce with questions about what he wants, because he really doesn't want to screw this up after Bruce was kind enough to invite him….

He apparently found _something_, Bruce thinks as he looks at the neatly wrapped package that would put Martha Stewart to shame. It is surrounded by packages in various shapes and sizes, a quantity that Bruce never expected to be presented with and that possibly exceeds the gift count of his entire life preceding this event.

"Left hand to the circular emblem of ruby, my flexible comrades. " Natasha quickly flips in such a way that leaves Bruce cursing himself for letting Tony claim both the acrobatic spies for his team. Clint was in the circus for goodness' sake. He sighs, but successfully stretches through Phil's arm and beside Steve to reach the mat.

"Superb! And now… Ah! The mystical divining tool informs me that a right foot to the sign of jade would be fortuitous!"

Right foot green. Pepper has to duck down by Phil's ankle, but she makes the move. Rhodey on the other team is practically nose-to-nose with Tony. Neither looks extremely comfortable with this position.

"Spin." Tony grits out. Thor does, after giving them another hearty round of congratulations. They'd had other party games planned, but it seems that none of the Avengers enjoys losing; they've been playing the same game of Twister for nigh on three hours.

Luckily Bruce has had excellent…stamina training recently.

"And now—ah! Your right hand is commanded to meet the sphere or purest azure."

Bruce looks down. He's the only one who can conceivably make the move without breaking contact with his team. Clint on the other side has already aroused cheers from his companions for the successful move.

Thor shouts out some flowery sentiment for Bruce's struggle that earns him the eyes of everyone in the room that can turn. No turning back now. Bruce takes a steadying breath, and _bends backward. _He is now splayed with one arm behind him on blue and one on red, with his head angled away from Steve.

He is insanely proud of himself.

"Damn, Banner." Clint snickers. "Not bad."

"Boyfriend." Tony reminds him testily, poking him roughly with his free hand. Clint just laughs.

"You're a credit to your country, Dr. Banner." Phil tells him seriously from somewhere near his ankles where he feels the agent's hand. He nods at the ceiling in reply.

"Right hand to… the golden symbol." He hears Tony chirp 'No problem' and looks around as best he can to see their situation.

Huh.

"Dr. Banner… " Steve says carefully. Bruce sighs. There's no other choice.

"Go for it, Steve."

He hears the man gulp, and then reach between Bruce's legs to reach the mat. Pepper, who is still touching Steve's shoulder to keep him in the game, is shaking with laughter.

They might have gone on for eternity if Tony had not said, very loudly, "Rogers, please stop _molesting _my boyfriend. Honestly, there are boundaries."

"N-no, I ah! Ah!"

Steve is so distraught that he loses his balance and topples onto Bruce. He swiftly rolls away, babbling apologies at the doctor.

"And the winner is Team Stark! Well done! An admirable show by all."

Bruce sighs, stretching to his feet and offering Steve a hand.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Steve. Tony is just cheating, _again._"

Tony smiles sunnily, not denying it.

"Cake?"

After cake comes presents. Bruce is practically vibrating with anticipation. Tony stands behind him, hands on the back of his chair but frequently straying to Bruce's hair, neck, ears.

Steve bashfully hands him his picture-perfect package first. In it is not one but two gifts: one from Steve and one from Phil Coulson. At Bruce's questioning look, Steve mumbles, ears red, "Phil and I went shopping together."

Bruce is already grinning from this comment before he even opens the package. In it he finds several carefully wrapped sketches. There's one of each member of the Avengers, and one final one that shows them all crowded around Bruce, holding presents in their hands and all radiating happiness.

"To, uh, remember us by?" Bruce gives him a fierce hug.

From Phil Coulson he receives a monthly exotic chocolate club membership. He could cry with joy. "To bribe you into remembering us with fondness." Bruce laughs and promises to share some with the agent should he ever visit.

From Thor he receives the pelt of what Thor assures him is a very large bilgesnipe. He still wants to cry, but not from joy. Thor booms at him that his brother had laughed with hearty joy and appreciation when Thor shared his inspired gift idea with him. Bruce thanks Thor as sincerely as he can and hopes privately that Loki laughed himself _sick. _

Loki, unfortunately(?), cannot make it, as he is forbidden from leaving Asgardian land. However, he does send with Thor a gift of his own: a bottle of a viscous tarry liquid that looks rather toxic.

"It is wyrm's blood." He assumes that Thor is referring to the mythical wyrm, rather than the worms in the garden. What is it with Asgardians and giving assorted body parts as presents? "Consuming it will gift you with the grace of tongues, so that you might converse with all creatures great and small."

…That is actually pretty freaking awesome. He gives a much more sincere thank you this time and silently forgives Loki for laughing, putting the bottle aside for later. He has a feeling he's going to need a spoonful of sugar for _that _medicine.

"How can we follow that up?" Clint complains to Natasha. Apparently they can follow it up with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs and a Taser.

"Am I supposed to use these together?" He asks dubiously. Tony yelps.

"Nyet, kuznechik. One if for when he is very very bad, and the other is for when he is very very _good." _Bruce hesitates to ask which is for which.

"Right. Thanks." It's always nice to have leverage against Tony, even if he would never actually Taser the man. He thinks.

Pepper and Rhodey give him a scrapbook containing all of Tony's most embarrassing and/or adorable childhood pictures. Tony actually seems more horrified by this than the Taser.

"You're trying to kill me. This is all an elaborate set-up."

"We will kill you if you do not reveal your own gift." Clint tells him seriously.

Bruce is a bit curious by this, since he doesn't see any more presents on the table.

"Oh, but Tony gave me this wonderful party!" He protests. Tony snorts.

"I'm not that much of a dick." He reproaches. "Your present is one that I'm giving in private though, so only after these yahoos leave. Speaking of…" He shoots the others a pointed look.

They don't leave for another hour or so, going back for a second round of cake and laughing over the scrapbook (which Tony promises to burn the first chance he gets), but eventually Bruce and Tony are alone.

Bruce is puzzling over how to make the noxious wyrm's blood palatable when Tony approaches him.

He has his hands in his pockets and not a package in sight. Bruce smiles at him cheekily.

"Is this the sort of present that will involve the fuzzy handcuffs?" He's okay with that.

Tony shakes his head silently, watching Bruce from the other side of the room. He looks sort of uncomfortable or strained. Bruce blinks at him worriedly and puts the bottle to the side for later.

"You don't look so good. Do you think it was the cake?" He feels fine, but maybe he just has a better immune system?

Tony shakes his head again. He looks like he might be sick.

"Maybe you should lie down…." Bruce says slowly, going to stand.

"No!" Tony yells, flying across the room and pushing him back into his seat. "You have to sit or else this won't work."

"Um… okay?" He looks up curiously at Tony, who is swallowing rapidly and staring down at him.

"Okay." The billionaire mutters under his breath.

And then Tony drops down to one knee.

"T-tony?" The man takes his hand and holds it tightly in his own. It's a little sweaty since both of them are now nervous, but their hands also fit together warmly and easily and Bruce doesn't want to let go.

"Bruce, you are completely insane and possibly masochistic." Oh. Maybe this isn't what he thought. But how is insulting him a birthday present? "That's the only way that you could not only agree to live with me, but also to date me."

Bruce snorts.

"These last few months have been the happiest of my life, and I'm selfish enough to want to put an extended warranty on that happiness. I've been in love with you since the moment you said 'scrambler', and I really can't see ever _not _being in love with you because we just… click." He takes a deep breath and looks up at Bruce. His hand has slipped into his pocket and now it reappears, cradling a little velvet box. "Robert Bruce Banner, you are the positive cathode to my negative anode, and I want to make a circuit with you." He pops open the box's lid to reveal a silvery ring etched around the edges with lemniscates.

The mathematical symbol for infinity.

"It's made of the same element as my arc reactor, because I thought you'd like that."

"Are you asking me to marry you?" He asks slowly, because he doesn't want to mess this up. Tony blinks at him.

"Didn't I say that? Huh. Yes, that was what I was going for, unless the answer is no in which case I was just giving you a friendship ring."

"I think I'd rather have an engagement ring, if you don't mind." Bruce says, clearly.

The ring is barely on his finger before Tony is whooping and swinging him off the floor into a hug. Bruce is laughing and laughing, so incredibly light and happy that he feels like the ring on his finger is the only thing keeping him from floating away.

"We are going to be the best science husbands ever!" Tony tells him, spinning him in a circle. Bruce nods agreeably, still laughing.

How could they be anything else?

Much later Bruce remembers to ask Tony why he chose the arc reactor material for his ring, when the metal is so hard to synthesize and doesn't look that different than silver. He feels the curve of Tony's smile against his shoulder.

"So that everyone will be able to tell that you hold the heart of Tony Stark in your hands."

Bruce decides to tease him about the cheesiness of that later.

For now he rolls over and reaffirms his right to that prize.


End file.
